Russian Lerouxlette
by Rappleyea
Summary: Erik fled a dark past in Soviet Russia and built an entertainment empire. But a ruthless mobster has never quit looking for him, intent upon revenge. Must Erik abandon his one chance at happiness in order to save himself in this game of wits? Modern.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note**: About a year and a half ago, right after she finished her story _Leitmotif_, Iamphantomgirl sent me a few chapters for a new fanfic she was working on, this time a modern one. I loved it, but after a bit, she said she just didn't like writing modern stories and so it died. However, about six months ago, I decided to pick it up and finish it as a writing exercise. So with a nod and appreciation to Iamphantomgirl and to Erik for inspiration, I present _Russian Lerouxlette_.

**Prologue**

**St. Petersburg, Russia - 1977**

The colored tent sheltered him from the wind, but not the cold. Dark blue shadows became fragmented images, evolving into the shape of man and child, but the light brown, almost amber, eyes closed tightly at their laughter.

"Let them", he thought wearily. "Let them stare. It matters no more."

Wasn't this what he wanted, after all? To overcome the pain that the reaction to his horrid face inspired. His family had not wanted him, and indeed, no one else had either. The dark streets of forgotten cities had become stained with the blood of those who'd hurt him, as well as every place along the way to his destination. The night had become his dearest companion, as had the cold wind in this ancient country.

But even great magicians, hideous though they might be, needed food and clothing.

So he had come here and offered the only thing he possessed that would interest anyone. For thirty days he had willingly bound himself to the ropes inside the tent and allowed them to stare. With the trick of lighting, he actually appeared dead, which he far preferred to them thinking he was really alive. Better an animated corpse than a living dead thing.

It was only at the sudden bright flash of light did he react – violently. "No photographs!" Bhuir shouted, grabbing the camera and smashing it to the ground, even as Erik lunged forward, his bone white flesh glistening in the light, twisting at an unnatural angle to free himself. The sockets inside his shoulders spun round almost to the point of dislocation, then his entire body went limp, the ropes slipping from his wrists to his hands.

The crowd, which had previously been enthralled with the half naked 'living' corpse began to scream in terror. Erik carefully moved his shoulders back into place and stepped toward his employer.

"You said there would be no cameras," he said in a low, controlled tone. "You lied to Erik."

"Is broken, see?" Bhuir said fearfully, stomping on the lens. "You came to me. You wanted pay, I gave. No problems, see?"

Erik made a soft humming noise, and watched the showman's eyes become glazed. As the rest of the crowd screamed and ran, the photographer stepped forward, trying to retrieve his camera.

"What did you do?" the man demanded. "I could have made a fortune with those pictures!"

The humming abruptly stopped, and Erik tilted his head.

"I think not, Sir," he said quietly. "No one takes Erik's image..." He bent down, his adolescent death's head close to the frightened eyes of a balding English tourist. "...And lives to see another night," he added, sliding a coiled wire from his trousers. "Perhaps we shall see one another in Hell? Wait for me, Monsieur. I pray it won't be long for me now, that I can meet my maker."

"Only God creates," the man whispered, hypnotized by the magical voice.

"Take my image with you in death, and know the truth."

Erik released the pressure when the man lost consciousness, letting him live. Another's death would do nothing to assuage his pain. He dropped the unconscious man on the ground, and unbound his hands from the wire. As he straightened, the shadows in front of him moved, and an equally tall and thin figure broke away from the wall. Bhuir, seeing their previously unannounced visitor, promptly fled the tent.

"You promised," a cold voice said, cutting through his numbed mind. "It's taken me two years to find you and this is what is I find. You lied to me, Erik."

"Micheil." He stared at the older boy, immediately defensive. "It was not so long ago that you would have done the same."

"I am not talking about him," Micheil said contemptuously. "You are no better than a prostitute, allowing these people to pay for a glimpse of your face."

Erik grabbed his robe from near the makeshift stage, not seeing the thin white hand which pocketed the Polaroid photograph, revealing a misshapen face and amber eyes. "What are you doing here? Surely you haven't come to tell me our family wishes to welcome me back into their home."

"No." Micheil replied hesitantly. "Our mother is dead. The cancer finally killed her."

Micheil thought he saw something flicker briefly in Erik's golden eyes, but then it was gone. Perhaps it was only a trick of the light.

"What about your wife Anya? Why aren't you with your dearly beloved bride?" Erik turned back to look into his brother's long thin face, which was now pinched with anger.

"She's gone."

Erik merely nodded, as if it were to be expected, but he had not forgiven the other for abandoning him, and in a most childish way he never would. Micheil was his mirror in so many ways. A brother through blood and twisted fate. Maternal exposure to toxic chemicals during pregnancy had left Erik with a severe facial disfigurement. Micheil's problems were less obvious, and indeed, might not have been caused by the toxins at all. They were both unusually tall, narrowly built, and extremely violent.

"She was not supposed to question me," his brother said bitterly. "I knew what was possible, but she...she would not stop. She laughed. Laughed."

"So your wife left you because you failed to consummate the marriage? Did you beat her too?"

Erik heard Micheil's sharply drawn breath, and waited for him to strike. None came. When he finally glanced back at him, he found his brother's head hanging low, and his face full of shame.

"You don't understand what its like," he finally muttered. "Not for a few more years anyway. Enjoy your ignorance while you can, Erik. One day I may have to stop you from doing as I have most unfortunately done."

**1990**

**Moscow, U.S.S.R.**

Erik Sokolov (nee Martin) gasped loudly as his torturers finally brought his head up out of the water, sucking in air in loud, rasping breaths. He was suffering through his third day of torture under his KGB handlers. The first two days - beatings followed by electrical torture - had nearly killed him. However, unknown to the thugs trying to drown the information out of him now, Erik had become very adept as a child at holding his breath under water for inhumanly long periods of time, and over the years he had perfected the ability to still his heartbeat and breathing. His display of agony now was merely a ruse to fool his interrogators.

It had occurred to him, that while fraught with risks, faking his own death might be his way out of the sadistic organization which had employed him for the last half dozen years. Technically, he wasn't actually one of the KGB's official agents; he had done some free lance work for the organization while serving as a mercenary in Afghanistan. He had also done quite a bit of the same kind of work for their brothers in crime, the Russian Mafia. As the state deteriorated, so did the lines between the official and unofficial organizations, and Erik excelled at working both groups to his own advantage. It was in this way that he had justified his theft of the huge payoff to a high ranking KGB officer from one of the Mafia leaders. It was dirty money anyway. He had been caught trying to fence some of the stolen jewels. The fence was also in the Mafia's employ.

Each time they plunged him back into the water, screaming the same questions at him over and over - "Where is the money?", "Who helped you to betray us?" - Erik let his heart rate and breathing still even more. The main risk would come of course if they continued to hold him under water too long after he "appeared" to have drowned. He really would need to breathe. It was worth the risk he decided; they were going to kill him anyway.

Erik slowly brought himself fully back to consciousness when he felt his body hit the cold, steel examining table in the morgue located in a wing of KGB headquarters. He had been quite sure with his distinctive features, that he would be scheduled for an autopsy, one which would concentrate on his face. He lay on the ice cold table, using all of his skills to keep from shivering as the KGB's coroner entered the room. This would be his only chance, and dangerous as it was, he had to take it. The doctor had only just begun to stare down at him in horror when Erik struck. In the blink of an eye, Erik came off the table, grabbing the doctor by the throat and throwing him to the floor. It only took another moment for Erik to finish the job. He quickly removed the doctor's clothes and put them on, along with a surgical mask to cover what he could of his face. Thankfully, the clothes fit well enough for him to make his escape. Erik quickly laid the body back on the table – if anyone happened to look into the room, it would appear as if there was an autopsy in progress. It might buy him a little precious time.

Thankfully, he had been removed from the prison section of the Lubyanka when they had taken his body to the morgue. He only had to negotiate the labyrinthine halls of the massive building to make his escape. It was child's play for the agent who had been nicknamed the Ghost.


	2. Chapter 1 The Producer

**A.N. **Just to be clear and to give credit where credit is due, this and the next couple of chapters were written by **Iamphantomgirl**, and then my part of the story. The story will also be a bit more conventional for a while, but the espionage element will return. I am gobsmacked and unbelievably grateful for the kind reception for this story. A big thank you to all who read and a rose from Erik for reviewing. I hope you continue to enjoy. Donna

**Chapter One**

**The Producer**

**2008**

**Toronto, Canada**

Җ

"He will not see you."

Christine twisted the ring nervously on her finger, shivering in the cold. "Please. I came all this way. Won't you ask him?"

A shrewd eyed doorman, of obvious Asian descent, stared down at her with dark, unmoving eyes. "Most assuredly, he knows that you are here. If he wished to meet with you, then he would advise me of this. I will not bother him. Good day, Miss....?"

"Davis. Christine Davis," she said softly. "I am a singer with...."

The man nodded once, committing her name to memory, then shut the door in her face.

She turned away, her mood somewhere between tears and anger. The arrogance of the man, this reclusive enigma, that he would turn her away! If it weren't for the growing darkness then she might have camped out upon his doorstep, but Toronto was unfamiliar, as was the rest of this icy country. Why would one of the world's greatest, albeit eccentric, producers chose to live in such a frigid city? From what she had heard, E. Remondet was not only strange, he was often times downright frightening. Prone to violent outbursts and frequent tantrums. Why else would he have thrown his own starlet out of a window? He'd threatened to kill several people, and there remained rumors in the entertainment world that he was an absolute madman, with no regard for human life, not even his own.

So why was she here? Why E. Remondet, instead of some other producer, and a better known one at that?

Because when she closed her eyes, she could see Raoul's face becoming whiter by the day from the cancer and the equally cruel treatments for it, and she knew that she would do anything for him.

Christine felt the engagement ring in reassurance, holding her breath in shear nervousness as she went to her waiting cab. Atria, her trio, had been disbanded for two years now, and Raoul's fondest wish to hear her sing again, to see her on stage. With his influence she could have already been there, but she'd insisted on doing things her own way. Working her way up again instead of allowing his helping hand. This was her only chance to prove to him, and to everyone else, that she was born to sing. She could feel song well in her throat, hear it in her dreams. It flooded every part of her being, and yet when she sang, it had never quite burst from her mouth like it did from her heart.

The slightest movement drew her eye when she closed the door to the cab, and she glanced up toward the third story of the building. It was almost as if the figure there had wanted to be seen, but he was enshrouded in blue shadows, and only there for a moment. She searched the facade of the building, but there was nothing else. Wearily, she gave up. It had taken far too long to track this man down, and to be turned away without even seeing him was depressing.

The cab returned her to the hotel, one of Toronto's finest. It was only with Raoul's financial support that she could afford such a place. Since their engagement some four months ago, he'd paid off all of her fathers debts, though she had argued steadfastly against it. He'd gotten his way by doing it without her knowledge, and while the relief of having the collectors off her back was welcome, the feeling of indebtedness to him was not. But Raoul had only said, "When you are my wife, none of it will matter."

True as it might be, Christine had taken it upon herself to provide him every comfort, even though he had an arsenal of nurses and doctors at his disposal. They had to be wrong, and if there was even a chance that he might live beyond the few months alloted, then she would pray every day for a miracle.

Christine opened her laptop once inside her hotel room, finding an email from Raoul waiting for her. He was still strong, but he had bouts of severe pain that could render him incapacitated for several days. He'd gotten his first migraine a mere month after he proposed. The seizures, the headaches - at first he hadn't told her he was having problems, and they'd grown steadily worse over time, until she had practically forced him to consult a doctor. By the time they'd found out about the tumor, it had woven itself deeply into his brain, and by then it had been too late. No doctor in the world would operate. Raoul had endured several rounds of progressively stronger chemotherapy, followed by radiation, but the prognosis was still grim.

At times now she wished they could have had a few more moments of blissful ignorance, instead of this acute knowledge of what was to come.

"_Any luck_?" he'd typed. "_Don't give up just yet, Christine. Stay a few days and maybe something else will come along. If not, enjoy the beauty of the city. I start treatment again in two weeks. I'll need you here with me then_."

"I need you now," she whispered. "While you are still strong enough to know my name."

Christine had watched her father die just this way, a cancer eating at him from the inside, until he'd no longer recognized her through his pain. She didn't want to see Raoul fade away like that. A strong vibrant man, ravaged with disease, and eventually reduced to nothing. They had met as children, he a privileged and handsome young man, the son of a wealthy venture capitalist and a humanitarian. She, the daughter of a musician and a music teacher, both of whom had died before their time. In some odd twist of fate, they'd found each other again less than a year ago, and now fate was having its cruel way again. Raoul was dying, leaving her alone as had everyone else in her life.

She quickly typed out a cheerful reply, leaving out that she had been turned away at the door of Remondet's residence, and telling Raoul that she would enjoy a few days in Toronto.

"_T__here is a musical tonight at the Princess of Wales Theater. Perhaps I shall see what Canada has to offer in theater_," she closed by sending her love and an admonishment for him to take care of himself, then sent the message.

**Җ Җ Җ Җ Җ**

"It's her," Erik Remondet (nee Martin) murmured, leaning forward in his box. "The girl. Christine."

She'd been given one of the worst seats in the theater due to limited availability during the current run, but even from his vantage point Erik could see her beauty. She was early, just as he liked to be. Far too early, he mused. There was hardly anyone else in the auditorium at the moment. Suspicious by nature, he questioned her reasons. In his ten years of living in Toronto, he'd never noticed her before.

And the delicate blond was someone Erik most certainly would have noticed. He wondered what color her eyes were, and judging by the skin hugging deep royal blue dress that she wore, decided it must match her eyes. Then she would be perfect, indeed. He admired such lovely features, even knowing how painful the image would be later when he was alone again at home.

"Why are you here and all alone?" he whispered, letting his voice float down and settle behind her.

The auditorium of the theater was too vast for the acoustics of his voice to carry, but she glanced behind her not a moment later, then settled back in her seat.

"You won't enjoy the play from there. Pity. It's one of my personal favorites." Christine didn't appear unhappy with the location she'd been assigned to, but Erik felt a niggle of annoyance. Why had this same young woman appeared on his door the night before? Who was she? What did she want?

He lifted the call receiver in his box, dialing directly to management.

"This is Remondet. There is a girl seated in row four nineteen in a blue dress. I want her moved to the box directly across from mine."

Without waiting for a response he hung up, and moments later a steward rushed forward, offering his arm to the girl. She looked alarmed at first, as if she were worried she'd done something terribly wrong, and then confusion set in.

"But I don't wish to move!" she exclaimed, loud enough for him to hear. "Excellent voice, my dear," he murmured softly. "But you will move. So I can better see you."

Erik watched as the attendant bent low toward her, obviously trying to explain. He then turned and gestured to the box in which Erik was sitting, forcing Erik to slam back in his chair with a scowl. The girl looked up toward him, then back to the attendant.

"He's in there? Are you sure?"

"Yes miss. Now please, allow me to guide you to your new seat."

She gazed up at his box for several moments, her eyes searching the shadows and finding nothing but more shadows. At length she nodded, and followed the steward back out of the theater then upstairs to a lavishly decorated box, directly across from the famous producer, E. Remondet.

Christine hesitated a moment before entering the box, then looked at the neatly dressed worker. "M. Remondet is a very strange man, yes?"

"Enjoy the performance, Miss Davis. I will be waiting just outside should you need refreshments."

With that the steward gestured that Christine should enter the box, and she stared down at the now filling theater in astonishment.

Then she looked up, and nearly gasped aloud.

The box across from her remained as dark as before, only now an eerie yellow glow, which at first seemed one source, then two, emanated from the partially shrouded vestibule.

Ominous. Threatening.

Christine shivered slightly and turned her eyes to the performance. Never again did she glance up, but without looking she knew she was being scrutinized in a most intimate way.


	3. Ch 2 Sweet Torment

**Chapter 2**

**Sweet Torment**

**Җ Җ Җ Җ Җ**

Christine Davis no doubt slept soundly, a sweet princess, tucked comfortably beneath soft sheets of whitest linen. Erik barely breathed, staring into the flames of his fireplace in near fury. Why had she ever bothered him? Why, when her voice and face were now beginning to haunt him as no other? What was it about her which drew him to her? That blessed thing, the Internet, allowed him to type in her name, see her face, and then to hear her voice.

She'd briefly belonged to the rock band Atria, far too punk for his tastes, but they'd had a good sound. His label had actually turned them down – twice, before they moved on to another company. Christine had been the replacement for lead singer Natalia Muntz. Not really mainstream, Atria had a cult like fan base, and the girl had not stood a chance. It was perhaps the worst mistake she had made in her music career, accepting a position that was doomed for failure from the start. Although she had a perfectly lovely voice, it was ill suited for their style of music. They had released two albums with Christine as lead, both of them selling pitifully.

And it wasn't only Atria to which she'd belonged. Erik's Internet search yielded him the information that Christine was 30 years old, closer to 31 - older than she looked by half a dozen years, and she had a background in classical music. Her father had been a composer and her mother a high school music teacher before their deaths some ten years ago. In high school she had won competitions in her vocal group, then a music scholarship to Washington University, where she had been close to receiving her masters degree in musical performance when she had foolishly quit after joining Atria.

Yes, the Internet was a blessed thing. Though much of her private life still remained unknown, within a day he knew many critical things about her.

Except for why he had endured two sleepless nights of torment after seeing her face. And what she had wanted with him in the first place.

Quickly coming to a decision, Erik called for Teo, whom he depended on for even the most mundane tasks, and ordered a note to be delivered to her hotel.

If she knew what was good for her, then she would come. And perhaps give him the answers that he sought.

Җ Җ Җ Җ Җ

Christine stared in puzzlement at the envelope lying atop the dresser when she came out of the bathroom. Had it been there when she'd gone into the shower? For long moments she just looked at it, then feeling an uneasiness flood through her, she walked to the hotel door and checked the locks, relieved to find them as she had left them.

Just to be safe she slid the chain and the slide bolt, chiding herself for not doing it after she'd returned from the play. Despite the way E. Remondet, or whomever had been in his box had watched her, making her feel uncomfortable throughout the performance, Christine had stayed, almost in defiance, but very aware that he had not paid much attention to the play.

Why had he given her a box? As apology for not meeting with her? Christine moved to the creamy white rose, hesitantly touching the velvety petals. Perhaps he had been ill? Or was it something else?

"Where did you come from?" she asked quietly, lifting the envelope, and meeting her own gaze in the mirror. There was nothing else to indicate that anyone had been in her room. He'd had this left this for her, of that she was almost certain. Most probably bribed one of the cleaning ladies into doing it.

Who else? The only person she knew from Toronto was Natalia, and she was in Seattle, struggling through rehab again.

After returning from the play last night Christine had turned on her computer and spent hours searching for Remondet's name. There was nothing about him, and virtually nothing to connect him to his label, Shadow Entertainment. Separate searches on the company name itself had brought up the usual artists' releases, tours, and awards as well as a few short blurbs mentioning Shadow Entertainment's acquisition of various other companies. Shadow's president, Geoffrey Riggs, was the figure connected with the company and was well known as being hard nosed and forceful, but there was almost nothing about E. Remondet himself, not even a mention of his first name. There were certainly no pictures or anything about his personal life, no place of birth or even a date. Maybe Natalia had been wrong about Remondet's connection to Shadow Entertainment.

Christine sat down on the bed and opened the envelope, not surprised to see a skull like emblem at the top of a corporate letterhead. "Well you're certainly morbid enough, aren't you, Mr. Remondet?" She opened the letter, startled by the briefness of the note.

"Ten o'clock today. You already have the address."

"Ten?" she repeated, glancing at the clock. "But it's already a quarter after nine! I'll never make it by ten!"

She did not yet know his voice, but something seemed to whisper through her.

"Then you'd better hurry, Christine."

**Җ Җ Җ Җ Җ**

E. Remondet lived in a converted warehouse near Bloor Street, and Christine arrived just after ten with her hair still slightly wet from the shower and clothes that could have used a good pressing. In the bright daylight the place didn't seem so ominous, but repeated knocking and buzzing of the doorbell brought no answer. Christine backed up to the edge of the street and stared up at the facade of windows, instantly seeing the same vague shape that she had seen the last time.

"You have got to be kidding," she muttered, glaring up at him. "If you wanted me here on time, you should have made it noon!"

"What a temper, Miss Davis," a soft voice intoned through the intercom. "You came to me, remember?"

Flushing with embarrassment, Christine dove back to the front door. "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting you to contact me, let alone send a note asking me to return. Could you open up please? It's freezing out here."

"You will answer a few questions first," he said, ignoring her request. "Who gave you my home address?"

Christine stared blankly at the intercom for a moment, then decided to be honest with him. "I stole it from Natalia Muntz's address book. She was the lead for..."

"Atria, yes, I know," he replied flatly. "As were you. Briefly."

Christine grimaced slightly, and suddenly noticed there was a camera above her, the red light blinking. "I apologize for disturbing you at home. I couldn't get an appointment through your company."

"And which company is that Miss Davis?"

"You are Mr. Remondet, aren't you?" Christine asked, confused by his question. "I don't mean to question you, but it's rather awkward, standing outside your door like this. Was that you at the theater last night?"

He was silent for a long time, and she noticed the lens on the camera turn slightly, as if he were refocusing. She gazed up at it, growing more uncomfortable by the moment.

"I am Erik Remondet," he finally said, his voice moving through her like the wind, "and yes, I was at the Princess of Wales last night. I arranged for you to have a private box."

'And you stared at me through the whole performance,' she added silently. Aloud she asked, "Does this mean you will allow me an audition?"

"I know what your voice sounds like."

Christine's brows raised slightly in confusion. "And?"

"And you should have finished your degree in performance instead of joining Atria," Erik replied.

Exasperated, Christine shifted her heavy purse onto her shoulder. "Thank you for the advice, but I'd much rather talk about a possible recording contract."

"Why would I give you that? You haven't gone through the proper channels, Miss Davis. You've been absent from the music industry entirely for the last two years, haven't you? How do I know that your voice is even prepared for the rigors of making a record, let alone touring?"

Christine bit her lip, unsure how to answer. Beyond singing for Raoul, she had not thought of what it would mean to gain a contract. That it would take her farther away from her fiancée than she wanted, especially with him so ill. But given the chance - she would take it.

"It's not exactly true that I've abandoned music. I've been writing songs since I was fifteen. There is a place in Greenwich Village where I perform on weekends, and..."

"A dive?" Erik laughed softly. "I'm certain that has done wonders for your voice."

Embarrassed and getting angrier by the minute at the absurdity of the situation, Christine cast a furious look up into the camera, muttering something under her breath her mother would have been shocked to hear.

"You wouldn't enjoy it," came a languorous reply.

"I'm wasting both our times. Sorry I bothered you," Christine said shortly, then turned from the intercom.

The street was bustling with people, and she was blinded by the sun for a moment. Someone bumped into her, and she had the added misery of almost being knocked down in front of the man who had just humiliated her.

"I can help you, Christine. Sing something for me."

Against her better judgment she went back to the intercom and pressed the button. "Here?"

"Isn't that your goal to sing in a public venue? Sing."

Christine looked up at the camera, entirely unsure of herself. "What should I sing?"

"Whatever you want."

Grappling for the right song, she went blank for several moments, then closed her eyes.

"Share my life,

Take me for what I am."

"Louder, Miss Davis. You aren't a rodent, are you? A timid little mouse?" Erik interrupted rudely.

Christine glared at his camera, but sang the next lines with more force.

"'Cause I'll never change

All my colors for you."

Several times he did the same thing, breaking in, commanding she do something differently, even demanding that she set down her purse and hold her frame better. For all his direction, she could have been giving a performance on Broadway, not on his doorstep. And she was more than embarrassed to see that as her voice climbed, so did the interest of the people walking down the street.

"You see through,

Right to the heart of me.

You break down my walls

With the strength of your love."*

Christine finished the song, probably not one most suited to her voice, but it had been the only one in her mind. Several people began clapping, and she averted her eyes.

"Are you satisfied?" she asked.

The only answer was the resounding click at the door, and then it swung open slightly, giving her admittance.

* I Have Nothing, performed by Whitney Houston.


	4. Ch 3 Music and Mysteries

**Chapter 3**

**Music and Mysteries**

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

The building was spacious inside, each level seeming to be two stories if the soaring ceilings on both floors were to be believed. A curved metal balcony glided along polished light oak floors, and everywhere that Christine looked, she found pricey art of the strangest variety.

As for Erik Remondet himself, he was nowhere to be seen.

"Go past the staircase down the hall. Third door on the right."

Christine spun around, certain he had been right beside her, but there was nothing but bare brick walls and windows. Thinking he must have some sort of intercom system within his house as well, she took a step forward. "Where are you?"

"Don't concern yourself with that. Just go into the studio. We're going to work on your voice this afternoon."

"But...."

Erik's exasperated voice cut through her protests. "I am a busy man, Miss Davis. Either you do as I ask, or you may leave now."

Christine hiked her purse onto her shoulder and moved determinedly down the hall, opening the third door. To her surprise it was a studio like any other, except she could not see into the control booth. There was a keyboard near one wall and another smaller room off to the side that was filled with guitars and violins. After listening a moment though, she heard a door close from inside the other room.

"Now," Erik said through the speaker, "are there any instruments you can play?"

"Piano and guitar mostly," Christine replied. "My father could play any instrument, but he died before he could teach me all that he knew."

"There is a Fender in the music room. Go get it."

Christine sent an irritated glance into the booth but obeyed, sliding the strap over her neck as she stopped before the microphone.

"What is your preferred style of music, Miss Davis?"

"I'm extremely versatile, Mr. Remondet. I can sing anything from blues to rap, if that's what you want."

Erik's laughter echoed through the room. "That won't be necessary. Can you sing opera?"

"Opera? N-no," she stammered, giving a nervous laugh. "You're kidding, right?"

"No. But if you don't have a background in it, then it's to late to start now. I've something else in mind for you anyway."

Christine searched the expanse of glass, piqued that she did not know what he looked like. He had a magnificent voice, with a beautiful tone and modulation, which managed to be both stern and intimate at the same time. Seldom had she had that sort of reaction to a man – and never just by listening to him speak.

Making up her mind, Christine decided that if he was going to give her the opportunity, then she would do whatever was necessary to earn a place in his company. "Tell me what to do, Mr. Remondet. I trust your judgment – musically speaking, of course."

"Of course," he replied somewhat brusquely. "Just sing for now. Whatever comes from the heart. I'd like to explore your range and versatility."

For the next two hours she sang every song she could think of from Etta James to the Black Eyed Peas, as well as some of her own music, nervously wondering what he liked and if she was making the right choices. He never interrupted her, but at some point the light came on that indicated he was recording her.

She hadn't been lying when she said she was versatile. Her parents had introduced her to more genres of music than she cared to remember, and if someone browsed through her music collection then they would probably be surprised to find Waylon's Wurlitzer Prize right next to Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto No. 2. Her father had been a quintessential hippie, a man with big dreams and no direction, until he'd met her mother in the Summer of Love, and she'd become the guiding force behind his music until she died. Then he had died as well, leaving his daughter with a soul of music and an empty heart.

Christine finally ended the impromptu audition with a classic Joan Baez song, setting the instrument aside and looking at the glass wall expectantly.

"How did I do?"

"You have potential, but you're going to have to abandon the folksy tunes. If you want to do those types of songs, find another label."

"I don't want back in something like Atria. It was a disaster."

Erik smiled, watching her expression of self contempt. "It didn't work because you were born to be a solo artist. Atria already had it's three members. You can't replace someone like Natalia Muntz in her own group and expect success. She's one of a kind."

"Yeah," Christine said softly. "She is."

"How would you feel about exploring a different genre? I think you would do really well with a symphonic metal sound backing your voice." Christine looked puzzled. "Think heavy metal clashes with orchestra. An operatic style all your own. It's a growing trend coming from Northern Europe right now."

"I don't know...."

"I'll have my butler Teo get you some examples. How long will you be in Toronto?"

"A couple of weeks."

Erik frowned at this. A couple of weeks did not begin to cover everything that she would need to do if he were to undertake her transformation into any kind of successful artist. She would have to commit to staying longer to at least give him time to work on a few songs and music arrangements with her. He would also have to attempt to find her not only a regular band, but a small orchestra to back her powerful vocals in that short time. "That won't be enough time. Rearrange your schedule to stay longer. You'll be here every day at ten until you return to New York - if I think you've made enough progress to merit leaving."

"I must get back. I have some personal things I'm taking care of right now. A friend is very ill and..."

"Just make sure you are here every day for as long as I think necessary, and I'll consider drawing up a contract, provided we can find the right music."

Christine stared at the booth a moment longer, then nodded. "Do I...I mean...is that all?"

"Yes, you may leave now," he said dismissively. "Lock the door on your way out."

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

"So what does he look like?"

Christine twirled the phone cord around her finger, chuckling softly. "He stays in the booth the entire time. I never see him."

"You should watch him, Christine. He's very strange. I can't believe you stole his address from me and flew all the way to Toronto just to meet him."

"Hey, you said he was the best producer for indie music, and I've tried everyone else I can think of. I couldn't even get in the door at most places."

Natalia made a sympathetic sound. "Yeah, well remind me when I get out of this dump, and I'll show you something strange that I have on him. It's really weird."

Christine sat up, knocking aside the pile of CD's that Teo, Mr. Remondet's recalcitrant butler had given her. "What is it?"

"Just some weird video of him. Oh, I've got to go! That dragon nurse has been pointing at her watch for the last five minutes, and now she's coming over! Bye Christine!"

Christine didn't get another word out before the phone clicked in her ear. Bored, she turned the volume up on the radio and sang along. It had been three days since her first session with him, and during that time she had not seen Erik Remondet at all. Teo opened the door for her, she went into the studio, and at the end of the day, she left without ever seeing him. The first few days, it hadn't done more than annoy her, but today had been different. Erik had left the booth for a few moments, telling her that he would return, and she'd tried to open the door between the rooms, finding it locked. She hadn't asked him about it because she'd been afraid it was nothing, that he simply kept the door locked to protect his equipment, not for any other reason. She hadn't wanted to appear foolish, but at the same time, it was almost too perfect the way that he avoided meeting her face to face.

Raoul had been asleep when she called earlier, which also had her worried. It wasn't like him to go to bed before midnight, and certainly not on a weekend. He had sent her another three emails though, congratulating her on getting past Mr. Remondet's bulldog, and telling her that he felt fine.

Christine wished that Raoul could be near her now, comforting her with his quirky sense of humor and teasing smiles. She missed him. The day they had found out about the cancer, she'd given herself to him completely. Not that he hadn't already owned her heart. With tenderness she hadn't expected, they had made love well into morning, crying and laughing, both of them shattered with grief. He hadn't begun to pull away from her yet, and at that early point after the diagnosis, there had been a small spark of hope remaining that he might live.

It was all but gone now. Part of her was relieved Raoul had given her this opportunity to break away for a little while, to lose herself and begin to heal in music, even as the inevitable occurred. But part of her grieved at losing any of the remaining time with him.

A band called Epica from The Netherlands played in the background, and Christine was surprised to find she liked the music Erik had given her. Christine took one of Raoul's shirts out of the suitcase and curled up beneath the covers with it, inhaling against the soft cotton. She drifted off into an uneasy sleep, filled with dreams of tawny eyes and a haunting melody.


	5. Ch 4 Pleasure and Pain

**A.N.**: Okay Grasshoppers, we're here early, after only five days. Since the story is finished, I'm going to try posting every five days. The tracking has shown that there are no hits after five days. Please continue to do what you all do best - reading and reviewing. It makes me insanely happy!

**Chapter 4**

**Pleasure and Pain**

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

Erik arose and moved silently down the stairs to the kitchen where Teo would have set the timer on the coffee maker to begin brewing. He loved the pre-dawn hours when he could go without his mask, dressed only in pajama bottoms and a comfortable robe, the only time of day he allowed himself such informality. Taking his coffee back up to his office, he touched a hidden mechanism and the bookcase swung open, revealing a safe. Erik entered his 15 digit code and opened it to retrieve the file that Geoffrey Riggs, his president and right hand man, had sent home with him.

He quickly scanned the one page report the private investigator had typed up on coffee stained paper. No leads, no new information on the whereabouts of one Ibrahim Sayed, but the apartment he'd been living in the past nine months had finally been located. Erik folded the letter, and examined the pictures taken of Ibrahim's residence. A squat, crumbling stucco building in the poorer port section of Monaco, lying southwest across the bay from the high rolling casino ward. The investigator had taken pictures of the inside, and although it didn't tell Erik anything about where Ibrahim might be, its location did give him a clue as to why he might have gone missing.

"Ibrahim, you pathetic bastard. You couldn't stay away from the roulette tables, could you?"

Most likely his old friend had gotten himself mixed up in something again, and he'd fallen in over his head. Ibrahim was a grown man, and if he had done something foolish, it was his own fault. That wasn't what concerned Erik.

What concerned him was the strange email he'd received from Ibrahim three months ago, just before he'd gone missing. Brief and to the point, it had warned Erik that the past was closing in.

Which to Erik only meant one thing.

Ibrahim had become a liability. And that necessitated a call to his brother, Micheil.

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

It was almost five hours later when Erik finally stopped working and left his office to prepare for his daily session with Christine. She arrived not five minutes after he had turned all the lights off inside of the booth and locked the door. Erik waited, not a little impatiently, with his hands clasped on the control counter as he watched her, seeing she was even more disorganized than usual. The red and black striped scarf she wore had become tangled inside her coat somehow, and when she finally wrestled the thing off, it had made the static in her hair that much worse. She dropped her water bottle twice, tripped on her purse strap and almost knocked over his very expensive keyboard, then let out a succession of curses that finally made him smile.

"Finished, Miss Davis?"

Her response, and one he was getting used to, was a glare aimed in his direction. "It is twelve degrees below freezing outside."

"And that has what to do with your tirade this morning?" Erik asked, repressing a chuckle. "If you are ready, I have made further adjustments to one of your songs."

He'd demanded that she leave her own compositions with him when she'd first begun working with him, and he'd returned her music with meticulous notes on how it would need to be "changed" to fit the genre he was thrusting her into.

"More changes? To which song?" Christine asked, finally kicking everything away from her feet when she almost tripped again.

Erik started to ask her if clumsiness would hinder her stage presence, but decided to forgo another argument. "First of all, the song formerly known as White Sunshine, has become Indigo Morning. I also took the liberty of altering the chorus."

Christine mimicked him, her lips moving in time with his own, "I took the liberty..." as she glanced over the desk he always left her music on. Finding the right song, she read through it, and looked up at the booth with a trace of skepticism in her eyes. "Well aren't you the cheerful poet?"

"I can write it."

"This is much better," Christine said quietly. "Thank you, Mr. Remondet."

"I am glad you approve. Now, play it for me."

She stood behind the keyboard, stumbled through it the first time, then played it again for him, finding that the words mixed with the different chords created a wholly different sound. Erik felt pride and possessiveness well anew within him. They were becoming bound together through music. He'd studied her lyrics, analyzed them, until he felt that he knew with certainty what she had been feeling when she had written those words. By delving into those feelings and changing the music, they were connected. Christine finished playing, her eyes closed a moment, then she began again, singing the altered lyrics with more confidence. Halfway through Erik could tell she had begun to feel the spirit of the song – of what he had been trying to create. And when she sang the last note, she beamed, her irritated mood finally broken.

"Then you do like the changes?" Erik asked, his anxiousness fading.

"No artist likes to have her work recreated." Christine's lips quirked slightly. "Especially by someone who does a better job."

"I was just channeling you, Christine. Had I really unleashed myself, you wouldn't have recognized the song."

"I can see why you are successful," she said, still smiling. "Even with your obvious - peculiarities. I'm sorry. That was rude of me."

"If only you knew," he muttered beneath his breath. Willing her to drop the issue, Erik just watched her for a moment, forgetting he had yet to answer her until Christine dropped her gaze, looking embarrassed.

"I meant no disrespect, Mr. Remondet. It's just a little odd that I haven't seen you yet. I know that you must value your privacy a great deal."

"Yes, Miss Davis. I most certainly do."

Christine looked down at the keyboard, biting her lip. "I'm going to sing another song now. I hope you'll forget that I just stuck my foot in my mouth, because I really do appreciate everything that you've done for me. I'd be a fool not too."

"It's forgotten. Sing whatever you like. I'm listening."

She glanced up at the booth, seeing only her own reflection. "Yes, you are. Aren't you?"

"Always, Christine," he half whispered.

But this time her head jerked up, as if she were aware that it was his voice, and not her subconscious.

"Did you say something?" she demanded, dropping the music.

Erik regarded her a moment, surprised that she could sense him. Most people could not – especially the younger generation. They were more fanciful. Not like Geoffrey, who could resist his tricks now, but hadn't been able to in the beginning.

"Of course not," Erik returned, feigning irritation. "I thought you were going to sing."

Christine stared at the glass with suspicion, but eventually nodded. He would have to be more careful now with her. Alarmed though he was that she had heard him, part of him was pleased. It signified her awareness of him. Curiosity. She did not trust his presence, but she was very conscious of him.

Erik adjusted the video camera, angling it solely on her face as she sang. He could get lost in those blue eyes, so full of life and warmth, and as much as he longed to turn his gaze away, to focus on something other than Christine, he could not. Something about her voice, her face. For once he did not interrupt her. He just let her sing, recording every second so that he might be able to watch it later and listen, feeding an obsession he vaguely recognized as neither healthy nor useful. An hour later she had begun to weaken, and he rapped on the glass.

"Enough. You're voice is getting strained."

Christine dropped down onto a chair and took a long drink of water. "I have to get used to it."

"Not at the cost of your voice. You've been singing constantly for two weeks. Take a day of rest tomorrow."

"Ah, I was afraid you would say that," she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "There is only so much I can stare at in the hotel room."

Knowing he would undoubtedly regret it, Erik turned off the camera, then made a decision. "Why don't you take two days? You mentioned that you have a friend in New York with medical complications. You may use my private jet, of course."

Christine brightened, and it almost made the knowledge that she would be gone for two days bearable. Almost. "Oh, I don't mind commercial air. But are you sure? I don't want you to change your mind. About me, I mean."

"I won't, not after I've invested my time in you."

She looked a little disappointed by his brief answer, but it was too late to add anything that wouldn't sound awkward. And there was nothing he could say that wouldn't be personal.

"Thank you, Mr. Remondet. You don't know what it means to me...I'm..." Christine closed her eyes, touching her throat for a moment. "I'm very grateful. I hope you will be as understanding in the coming months."

She didn't say it, but he could see a fragile, heartbroken intensity to her gaze. Her sick friend obviously meant very much to her, and he felt a strong tingle of annoyance and resentment.

Suppressing it, Erik cleared his throat, and tried for a sympathetic tone. "My company will assist you in any way that we can, Miss Davis, provided you progress enough that I decide you merit a contract. In that case, we would begin recording in little more than a month. There is also the promotional aspect of your career. Your - friend - is it? They are being treated in New York?"

"Yes," she barely whispered.

"Then we will make arrangements for your first concert to be in New York, and schedule the rest of them as we see fit. Radio and talk show guest appearances, interviews, all the usual promotional appearances. Geoffrey Riggs, Shadow's president, will be hiring a manager to help you adjust. Does this meet your approval?"

Somehow Christine managed to nod, but Erik could see that she felt overwhelmed. Most likely the promise of seeing her friend had already diverted any further interest she might have in continuing the conversation.

"I will see you in two days. See that you rest your voice."

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

Raoul had followed his father and his older brother into the world of finance and investment upon receiving his MBA from the Wharton School of Business. While his earnings were no where near his brother's income level, still he was able to provide a chic Upper West Side address for Christine and himself. To say that he was surprised to see Christine when she let herself into the apartment, was putting it mildly. Only a moment after he had entered the foyer, she launched herself into his arms, nearly forgetting herself.

"God, it's good to see you!"

"Christine! What are you doing here? What about Toronto?" he asked, squeezing her tightly.

"Mr. Remondet let me have the next two days off. Isn't that nice of him?" Christine drew his head down for a kiss, pushing him backwards and shutting the door behind her. "We should hurry, because I've got about thirty minutes before I fall into a deep sleep, and I don't want to miss a thing."

Raoul kissed her back hungrily, laughing softly as she grabbed the edge of his t-shirt and tried to pull it up. "We can't right now," he whispered regretfully. "My sister is here."

Just as he spoke, Christine could hear the click of heels coming down the hall. She tried to wiggle out of his arms and straighten her dress, but she could already feel Mara's assessing gaze on her.

"Oh, it's you."

"Nice to see you too, Mara." Christine responded coolly. Christine had met Raoul's older sister a few times at family functions, and had found her to be curt and condescending. Raoul had asked Christine for patience, explaining that Mara hadn't always been like that - she had become hard and bitter after she discovered her fiancé pawning her jewelry and any other valuables he could lay his hands on. Mara had moved back into the family compound in Connecticut with her widowed mother, until recently coming to New York to help care for Raoul.

"Have a nice time in Toronto?" Mara asked, crossing her arms over her chest and giving Christine a catty smile. "You just missed Raoul's last appointment."

"I couldn't get an earlier flight," Christine responded defensively. "When is your next one, Raoul?"

He gave a wan smile. "Later this week. Don't worry about it. I don't need Mara to hold my hand, and I can manage without you as well."

"I really am sorry."

"This is what I wanted for you, Christine. Never apologize for that. If you hadn't gone to Toronto then you wouldn't have gotten this chance." Raoul tugged her hand, giving his sister a warning look. "Come, tell me all about your trip."

"Dinner in half an hour," Mara called after them, disapproval evident in her voice as they disappeared upstairs.

Alone in their room, Raoul finally kissed her the way she had wanted - passionately, and more than a little desperately. She felt the moment though that he remembered why he'd encouraged her to go to Toronto in the first place. The doctor had not given him long, and she could tell he was worried about the new round of treatments. Today he was wearing a ball cap pulled low, concealing the hair that had just started coming back in.

"Chris," he whispered, holding her tightly against him. "Mara is driving me crazy."

"Then why did you ask her to come here?" she asked softly. "Doesn't your insurance have something in it that they will provide nursing care for you?"

"This is hard enough without having strangers here," Raoul said bitterly. "I know she means well, but she's suffocating. I'm glad you're here. One more night of Mara forcing her macrobiotic dinners on me, and I don't know what I would do."

"Do you want to go out?"

"I don't feel like eating." He pulled her toward the bed, laying back on it and bringing her down on top of him. "I want to kiss you and never stop."

Christine smiled down at him, mourning briefly the loss of his long golden eyelashes. He'd had a small mustache as long as she had known him, but that was gone as well. "I don't think Mara would like that."

"I don't care what Mara thinks! Kiss me already," Raoul murmured, framing her face in his hands. "I need you."

He kissed her, softly whispering tender words against her skin. Christine buried her face against his neck as he adjusted his pants and her dress, and soon he was inside of her, neither of them bothering to hide their eagerness. She came quick and hard, and Raoul neared that brilliant edge when she saw his face go white, and pain replace the shattering pleasure. A groan left his lips, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Dammit!"

"Shhh. It's okay. I'm sorry," she whispered, clambering off of him. The last few times they had made love, it had ended not with his orgasm, but with Raoul going nearly blind with pain. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't think...."

Raoul curled on his side, covering his eyes to the light. Shame rankled him, followed by anger. "It's not your fault. I asked the doctor about it this morning. He told me we shouldn't do this anymore."

Christine felt sickness wash over her as she looked at him. Raoul had been her first, though they had intended to wait until they were married. Then the doctors' diagnosis had driven them right into bed, just as so many other couples in previous generations had done prior to men marching off to war. The specter of death enhancing the pleasure of life. Christine had no regrets. It had been beautiful the last four months, and she didn't want it to end. But the thought of the pain it caused Raoul was unbearable.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Christine asked softly, touching his damp forehead. "I....My God, Raoul, what if you had some sort of seizure and died?"

"Then I would have gone out a much better way than I'm going," he replied, taking her hand. "Every man's dream – to die in the arms of a hot blond with a nice rack."

"That isn't funny."

"Don't be angry with me. I didn't tell you because I didn't want it to be true." Raoul turned to look at her. "What man wants to admit he can't make love to his fiancée? It's a different sort of....of impotence," he finished flatly. "God take my life, but don't take my favorite thing to do while I'm still kicking."

"This isn't fair," she said, her throat closing tightly. She lay against him, wrapping her arm around his side and pressing her nose against his shoulder. "I just want you to get better. This next treatment will work. It has to."

Raoul said nothing for awhile, then he rolled over to face her. "The latest round of tests have come back, Chris. The doctor told me the cancer has spread. It's not going to get better; it's going to get worse." He pressed one finger to her lips, silencing words, but not tears. "I still want to see you on stage. Singing for me. Promise me that you will."

"I can't leave you."

His eyes reflected a response she didn't want to see, "But I'm leaving you."

"You deserve the best," he said softly, his eyes growing bright. He didn't want her there to see what was to come. Christine had been at her father's bedside all through her teenage years, and she'd watched him die. He knew how hard it had been on her. It was that vulnerable, almost fragile side of her that had stirred something in him once as a boy, and then as a man. She couldn't take another devastating loss. First her mother, then her father. Now him. He was giving her music now because he knew that it was the only thing that would heal her heart once he was gone. It humbled him to know how much she loved him, and he would fight with his dying breath to stay at her side, but part of him already knew. He wouldn't be here a year from now. Probably less than that. "Tell me about your crazy producer. Have you gotten a look at him yet?"

Christine rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, a strange smile creeping across her face. "No. And I'm beginning to suspect that I never will."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Five**

**Surprise Visits**

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

Micheil paused once he had gained access to the interior of the loft to still his heart rate and to let his eyes adjust to the darker interior. He was actually quite pleased with his accomplishment that night, having avoided Erik's undoubtedly lethal booby traps and without setting off any of the several alarms, which surely must be guarding the residence. Probably a dangerous game he played, but Micheil was extremely confident of his abilities. Erik's fury at discovering that his fortress had been breached was probably still the most dangerous aspect of the entire escapade.

Erik had helped Micheil to leave Eastern Europe during their time fighting together in Afghanistan, sending him West and promising to join him as soon as he was able. Drawing upon his innate skills honed by time spent with his brother, Micheil had studied and apprenticed to become a private investigator. Ferreting out information, uncovering secrets, finding people who didn't want to be found, and moving unseen through the underworld came quite easily to Micheil. So much so that after only four years of working for another agency, he left and started his own. His firm now had offices both in Washington, D. C. and the Silicon Valley with dozens of employees: secretarial and administrative staff, research and support staff, and of course the investigators. There was plenty of call for private investigators in both politics and the high-tech industry. Micheil was in a position now to only take the cases that really interested him, leaving him free to divide his time between his vineyard in Northern California and his horse farm in the Northern Virginia hunt country. Or to break into his brother's residence.

Micheil had just begun his cautious advance down the dark hallway when the attack came, swiftly and ferociously.

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

Erik jolted awake at the sound of the thunderous crash, followed by shattering glass, and what sounded like furniture being splintered. Bolting from his bed, he stopped only to grab a gun before rushing out into the hall. He was hit immediately by a flying body, shoving him back against the wall. Recovering his balance, he pushed the offender off and managed to reach over and flick on the light, his gun at the ready. He couldn't believe the scene that the light revealed - Teo atop his brother Micheil, immobilizing him with a classic Judo strangle hold. Micheil ceased struggling to dislodge Teo when he realized that a fully armed Erik was aiming at both of them with a murderous glare in his eyes.

"What in the hell are you two doing to my home?"

"You said you needed to talk to me as soon as possible." Micheil replied. Teo looked to Erik for permission before releasing Micheil and rising to his feet. Micheil righted himself as well, somewhat embarrassed to have been bested by Erik's butler, who actually had been an easier adversary than Erik himself would have been.

"I'm sorry, boss, but I caught this man sneaking down the hall to your bedroom. I thought he was an intruder." Turning to Micheil, he bowed slightly. "I apologize to you as well sir. I didn't realize you were an expected guest."

"He_ is _an intruder, and he _wasn't _expected." Erik informed Teo. "You were just doing what I pay you to do - protect me. Now that we're all up, would you please make us a pot of coffee?"

Erik shot his brother another disgusted look, turned on his heel and stormed downstairs to the living room.

"Are you never going to grow up? I should send you a bill for the damage." Erik fumed.

"No, I'm not, Erik. You're old enough for both of us." Micheil was clearly enjoying himself. Time and Western living had mellowed him much more than it had Erik. "Calm down, and tell me what you called about." He took a seat, studying his brother's body language, looking for a clue as to what was going on.

"Don't look at my face. You know I don't like it."

Micheil only shrugged, but didn't avert his gaze. Erik finally spoke, "Sayed has disappeared. I've had people looking for him for months, and no leads. Except an empty apartment in Monaco. I wouldn't be especially concerned even now, except he sent me a warning right before he disappeared. Wait here." Erik disappeared back upstairs to retrieve Ibrahim's email. He returned, handing the cryptic message over to Micheil.

Micheil read the email and looked up at Erik. "You stubborn fool! Why didn't you call me sooner? This is what I do professionally, or did you forget?" There were times when Micheil wanted to wring Erik's neck. This was one of them. "Do you think they have Sayed? And, will he talk?"

"It's too early to say where the old bastard is. My people are still looking for him. At his age, I doubt he could hold out for very long if they really put the screws to him."

"How much does he know? Could he lead them to you?"

"I don't think so, but if he said enough, he could certainly make it easier for them. I'd say he knows just enough to be dangerous. He was a big help to me in getting you out, so he knows quite a bit of the history. I've been pretty careful to keep him at arm's length in our dealings the last several years, though." Erik's eyes were as alert as always, but without his mask on, Micheil could see the strain and fatigue in his brother's face.

"I hate to put any more on you, Erik, but it gets worse," he said. "Our surveillance software that regularly monitors activity on your names and businesses, is turning up increased search activity on Erik Sokolov. Someone has begun hunting again." Micheil waited, letting this new information sink in.

"They haven't 'begun hunting', Micheil. They never really stopped. The trail just ran cold for a while. I think Volchok has probably been released from prison, and is intent on revenge. Or at least intent on getting some kind of restitution for what I took from him." Erik almost smiled at the memory of the major scam he had pulled on the old Russian mafia boss. It had become his seed money in the New World.

"I'll get to work on this as soon as I get back. And I'll put my best people on it. I'll let you know as soon as we've found out anything." Micheil stood and headed for the stairs. "I'm going to try to catch a little shut eye before I have to leave. Be careful, Erik."

Erik sat immobile, oblivious to the time. The sun rose and then climbed high overhead as he continued to ponder his fate. He knew his decisions included not only himself, but his companies, his employees and the artists - especially the newest one whom he planned to make his next, big star.

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

It was torturous to leave Raoul, and when she arrived back at the studio three days later, Christine's eyes were raw from crying. On top of that, she was unable to sing because she'd made herself hoarse. Mr. Remondet snapped at her harsher than ever before, and ordered her out of his home. She spent a miserable day at a coffee shop in Toronto, unable to bear the sight of her hotel room another minute, finally dragging herself out into the cold only after receiving three phone calls from Raoul, berating her for not working.

She wandered aimlessly around the city for another hour, then bought her irate employer a bottle of the most expensive wine she couldn't afford, and returned with it to his residence. Teo informed her stoically that Mr. Remondet was not available, which of course, meant that he was home but did not wish to be bothered.

"Tell him I'm very sorry," she mumbled, shoving the peace offering into Teo's hands and leaving again.

The next day when Christine returned, meek and early, Erik's temper was still out in full force.

"That is not what is written on the paper. Those are not the right notes and you're mutilating the timing. If you cannot get them right the next time, then you'd best find yourself another label!"

"You'd kick me out for not learning a song?" Christine asked incredulously.

"I'd do it for less than that," Erik informed her coldly. "Read through one more time, then sing."

Perhaps it was needing his approval after having had it for the last week, or just to spite his belligerence, but the next time Christine concentrated fully, and she sang the song flawlessly. It wasn't enough for him of course, and had she known her vacation was going to cost her so much, she might have thought twice about going. Again and again Erik made demands on her, until Christine felt more like screaming than singing. And once again that soft voice was at work, insisting softly in her ear that she wasn't good enough.

Only this time it wasn't something she could hear audibly. It was a resounding voice in her head, and it sounded remarkably like Mara. The last day with Raoul and his sister had been horrible, and had ended with Mara telling Christine exactly what she thought of her. Raoul passed out with one of the worst headaches he had had so far, which had only made the situation that much worse. Mara had blamed her for that as well, and so convincingly that Christine almost believed her.

Just then Mr. Remondet snapped at her again, and she decided she had had enough.

"I can't do this," she stated, turning away from the booth before her emotions got the best of her.

"Do what? Perform under stress? You'll never make it with that attitude."

Christine wiped a stray tear from her cheek, but didn't look at him, anger replacing the shaking lack of confidence within herself. "What would you know? You quit performing years ago."

"What do you know of that?" Erik demanded, much louder than he intended. Christine ignored him and began gathering up her music, stuffing it haphazardly into her bag. "You said I could go to New York, so I went. If you didn't want me to go you shouldn't have offered!" She burst out, turning to glare at him.

Erik said nothing, smoldering with anger behind the safety of the opaque glass, merely watching her lips compress into an even tighter line. Suddenly she straightened, and looked directly at him. Her eyes flickered over the glass, and she nodded as if coming to a decision. "I have a life outside of this studio, Mr. Remondet, and personal obligations that are weighing very heavily on me right now. I'll be here tomorrow and I'll sing, but I won't subject myself to your mercurial moods a minute longer."

She heard Erik exhale heavily, and she hesitated an instant before she did as she felt like doing and slamming out his door.

"You will have to forgive me, Miss Davis. I am not very good with humans." Christine's brow knit at his wording, but before she could speak, he added, "People. I am not very good with other people. You see now why I do not make a habit of socializing."

"If you don't like me being here, why do you allow it?" she questioned quietly.

He exhaled again, as if the answers would have to be drug from him rather than given. "You are the first person who has crossed my threshold in close to a decade, Miss Davis. I prefer my privacy - and anonymity. Until you arrived, not even Mr. Riggs had been inside my residence."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"There is no answer. I am devoted to your music. You appeared in need of my help, and I saw an opportunity to shape a talent from something ordinary - to extraordinary. I have only done something like this one other time since I have owned Shadow."

"With whom?"

"No one you want to know," he told her. "And no one that matters -anymore."

Christine felt an odd chill, thinking of the young songbird that it was rumored Erik Remondet had tossed through a plate glass window several years ago. Devon Rhine. She was with an American label now, and she continued to churn out records, but she failed to produce any hits. And no wonder, given that she was trying to sell to a crowd in their teens instead of to her own age of forty something.

"Stay and finish the session. You will hear no more opinions from me."

Christine smiled slightly. "I somehow doubt that."

She heard Erik laugh finally, and the sound felt soft and tender, like a caress against her ear.

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

They continued rehearsing for another month, only stopping when Raoul finished his final cancer treatments and Shadow allowed her a three day leave to be with him. It was harder for Christine to leave him than ever before because his skin had taken on a white, weak glow that hadn't been there before, and he had lost a considerable amount of weight. More and more Christine questioned what she was doing. It had long been her dream to be a successful recording artist, performing her music on concert tours, and it had become Raoul's dream for her as well, knowing that if he couldn't give her time, he could give her a future. It looked like that dream was close to coming true, but at what cost?

Mr. Remondet continued to be a contradictory and difficult man, sometimes making her feel at ease and giving her heartfelt compliments, and at other times seeming to be extremely annoyed that she had invaded his life. But Christine strived to do as he asked, and pried no more into the reasons why he chose to stay hidden. Though she wondered about it, knowing how defensive he became was enough to keep her silent.

Christine thought that he seemed strangely subdued today. She was almost worried about him when he failed to berate her for being off pitch. She found she missed Mr. Remondet's constant instruction and correction, but perhaps he had other pressing business matters on his mind.

Erik was preoccupied, not with his other business dealings or even the still missing Ibrahim, but with thinking about how much he'd miss his sweet ingénue once she'd formalized a contract and began working with a band. He probably should have turned her over to Riggs a couple of weeks ago, but he justified continuing to work with her by his need for perfection, certainly not his obsession with her. In truth, her voice was one of the most beautiful he had ever worked with, and she was more than ready to begin recording and touring. He tried to ignore the catch in the region of his heart at the thought of her leaving him.

"Christine, I've suggested to Mr. Riggs that he sign you with Shadow. He'll draw up a contract, and have it ready for you to sign when you get back from New York next week." Erik waited for Christine's enthusiastic response, knowing how much she wanted the contract, but she only glanced down at the ring on her hand, and twisted it.

Try as he might, Erik had never been able to see it clearly. It was silver, that much he could see. And it had some sort of design on it, though he could never tell what it was. Not an engagement ring, Erik assured himself. She had never mentioned having a significant other – just the poor friend in New York who made her cry at night and sometimes during their sessions. He'd adjusted himself to that quite well, he thought. No longer did he yell at her when she broke down, but sometimes he had to leave the booth, retreating to the room behind it which contained his extensive music collection. Perhaps something of her mother's he decided. Something she had left behind for the daughter she would never see grow to womanhood.

"You 'suggested' to Mr. Riggs," Christine remarked with a hint of sarcasm. "Does he ever not take your suggestions?"

"Not if he wants to keep his job." Erik returned. "About the contract…"

"I'd like that," Christine answered, her gaze growing sad. "Thank you, Mr. Remondet."

"Call me Erik, child," he admonished softly.

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

Thankfully, Shadow had provided her with a temporary apartment, or she would have gone mad if she'd had to continue to live out of the hotel.

She'd just returned from her session with Erik, and was trudging up the stairs to her apartment, when she saw someone sitting outside her door, long legs stretched across the hallway.

"Natalia?"

Her fashionably dressed friend yanked her headphones off and jumped to her feet. "Surprise!"

Christine smiled and raced forward for a hug, relieved to see a familiar face. "It is a surprise. A good one! When did you get...out?"

Natalia blew her hair out of her face. "A few days ago. I went to New York first. I saw Raoul and that evil incarnate sister of his."

"How was he?" Christine asked softly. "I haven't seen him in almost two weeks, although we talk on the phone."

"As well as can be expected." Natalia gave her another hug. "So? Have they given you a recording contract yet? Look! I brought something to celebrate!"

Christine gave her friend a look. "Not yet, but they're going to. But Nat, you can't drink anymore. You just got out of rehab."

"Yeah, well who said I was drinking?" Natalia replied flippantly. "This is for you."

But Christine could tell that if she'd allowed it to go past, Natalia would have been more than happy to drain the bottle of champagne with her. She took it from her hands and let them into her apartment, intending to pour every last drop down the drain. But she didn't have the heart to do it in front of Natalia, and she knew it would only embarrass her friend.

"You want to hear some of my music?" Christine asked instead. "Mr. Remondet has a few rough sessions of me recorded."

"Sure. Gosh, this place is nice. Is Shadow paying for this?"

"I think they own the building. They use this apartment for artists."

Natalia grinned at her. "No one ever rented a place like this for me when I was starting out. Well, except for the guys I was sleeping with."

Christine sobered a little, thinking of Raoul's headaches. They hadn't been intimate for over a month now because of his headaches, and even before that he'd been in so much pain that they'd been forced to stop when they tried. But she couldn't tell anyone about that. It was far too personal, and she knew Raoul would never want that revealed about himself. Suddenly, Christine was crying, and Natalia's arms stayed around her until she was spent. It felt so good to be held by someone, the combination of her trips to visit Raoul and her demanding rehearsal sessions had taken a toll on her. Raoul couldn't bear to see Christine cry, so she kept it bottled up inside until she was alone.

"Shhh," Natalia whispered. "It's going to be fine, chica. Raoul will make it through this.

"No. He won't," Christine cried. "I can feel it. Every time I look at him, I can tell. He's going to die."

"Miracles happen every day, baby. You just have to believe."

When she finally regained her composure, Christine turned the stereo on so Natalia could listen to Christine's latest session. Her friend's wide grin told her enough – the music wasn't just good – it was perfect for her voice.

"I owe it all to Mr. Remondet," she confided. "Without his guidance, I would never have had the courage to sing like that."

Natalia's eyes widened suddenly. "I almost forgot! I have something to show you!"

"What is it?"

"A video of him, taken right before he stopped giving live performances."


	7. Ch 6 Video Performance

**Chapter 6**

**Video Performance**

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

The video was grainy darkness, but Christine could hear the faint sounds of a piano as the person carrying the camcorder moved closer. Christine glanced at Natalia, who was biting her thumb, eyes trained on the television. Part of Christine wanted to turn it off, but she wanted, needed to know what the man who had been tutoring her looked like. She would never tell anyone, not even Mr. Remondet, if she could just see his face once.

"Where did you get this?"

"You remember that story about Devon Rhine?" Natalia asked, still staring. "Everyone said Remondet hurled her through a glass window?"

"I've heard the rumor," Christine said carefully. "What about it?"

"Ten years ago E. Remondet was a renowned composer and entertainer, but supposedly he also had his hands in every aspect of Shadow. No one knew the name of Shadow's executive producer, and very few do even now. Somehow Devon Rhine got close to him and discovered, or at least thought she did, his position with Shadow. She tried to expose his identity."

"On this tape?"

Natalia nodded once. "I dated one of her ex boyfriends a long time ago - the one who shot this video. He left the tape behind when he stole five hundred bucks out of my purse and split."

Christine looked back to the television. It was obvious the people were walking down the aisle of the theater, going closer to the source of music. And what beautiful music! It soared and pulled her into it, and she knew without seeing the performer that it was Erik who played.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a hushed voice said into the camera, "you're about to see Erik Remondet, reclusive composer and alleged owner of Shadow Entertainment, for the very first time."

A woman giggled. "You sound pretentious, Jason."

"Shut up, Devon. Mark's going to hit the spotlight any minute. I want to be on the stage so I can get a good shot of the bastard's face."

"Make sure that you do," the woman said. "This ought to teach him a lesson for not renewing my contract."

Just as she spoke a light flooded the dark theater, focusing on a grand piano in the center. The music abruptly stopped, and as the camera was readjusted, Christine felt her heart sink in disappointment.

"You still can't see him! He's wearing a mask!"

"Wait, Christine," Natalia said quietly. "Just wait."

A tall, very thin man stood, glaring out at the audience. He was dressed all in black, head to toe, except for a hint of white showing at his sleeves and collar. A black mask covered his entire face, all the way to the bottom of his jaw. Then that terrible, beautiful voice of his rang out with cold, displeased laughter.

"You have outdone yourself, Miss Rhine. Congratulations are in order." The voice seemed to resonate from all directions, and the camera began to swing wildly. Murmurings, whispers, echoes, the microphone seemed to pick all of it up, but all Christine could make out was incoherent ramblings.

Suddenly she could hear Devon Rhine's distinctive voice screaming. "Stop! Make him stop! That voice!"

The camera fell to the ground, and Christine could see the image of a man and woman running up the aisle, then nothing at all.

Natalia turned the tape off, and looked at Christine. "You see why I warned you to be careful? He's got weird written all over him."

"Yeah, I knew that he was eccentric. But he didn't exactly do anything."

"She ran straight out of that theater and through a display case in the historical part of the theater. Jason said he almost did the same thing. Said some crazy voice was whispering things to him. He thinks Remondet did it somehow."

"That's absurd."

Christine rewound the tape but muted it, not wanting to hear those strange noises again. She paused on his image, studying him through new eyes.

"There is one thing I never understood," Natalia said slowly. "If you perform in total darkness, why wear a mask?"

"He obviously was worried about something like this happening. Maybe someone tipped him off that Devon and Jason were going to expose him."

"Jason swore that no one else knew except for him, Mark, who was Devon's drummer, and Devon herself. They'd already been booted off the label. They certainly weren't going to talk to anyone else from Shadow." Natalia reached out and touched Erik's head on the television screen. "Jason was an idiot. You know what I think?"

"What?" Christine asked softly.

"I think he must be a burn victim or something. I think there must be something wrong with his face. Or he's wanted somewhere. That's probably more likely, given his strange habits. It doesn't make him any less dangerous though. That's why I never showed the tape to anyone else. Toronto is like a small city in a lot of ways. I've lived here all of my life and when I was young I wanted a label with his company more than anything else."

"He turned you down?"

"Three times," Natalia said with a grimace. "I opened my big mouth and said that I was great friends with Devon Rhine. A lie, but at the time I thought it would get my foot in the door."

Christine turned the video off, then nervously began twisting her engagement ring. If what Natalia had said was true - if Mr. Remondet was some sort of burn victim, then it would explain why he didn't allow anyone to see him. It would certainly explain his bitterness, and his anger. Of course, the other thing she had said could have been true instead. He could be a criminal, and he hid his identity to prevent capture. There were so many possibilities, and none of them made sense. Why a mask? Why not sunglasses and a hat? A fake nose and wig?

"He must be so lonely," Christine said quietly. "Never leaving his home, never speaking to anyone. I can't imagine living like that."

"It's his choice, Christine."

Christine met her friend's gaze. "What if it isn't a choice? He protects himself, but from what? I understand not wanting the world to see you, but friends, acquaintances? And what about family? He told me I was the first person to step across his threshold in a decade. He trusted me enough to let me inside his house. I think he just wanted company. A friend."

Natalia nodded toward the stereo. "Sounds like you were more of a project than anything else. Did he do those arrangements?"

"More like rearrangements of my work," Christine said wryly. "Nothing of mine was left untouched."

"Well I don't think you should go to his place again. He was generous with his time, but given all that I've heard, and seen, I think you were lucky to get away from him. Just focus on your music, Christine, and you'll be making millions in no time!"

Christine smiled slightly, unconcerned about the money. She had always survived somehow without it, but it would be nice not having to worry again. Right now her thoughts were of Erik, and their last session together. His voice toward the end of it as she'd said goodbye, had sounded almost melancholy. Although at times his stubbornness had rankled, and he'd been very harsh with her, it made sense now.

"I'm going to go see him," Christine announced suddenly.

"Mr. Remondet?"

"Yes." Christine stood, feeling her nerves begin to sing as they always did when she knew she would be in his uncomfortable presence. "He helped me with my voice, and I don't think it was easy for him to do that. I should let him know..."

"Know what, Christine?" Natalia questioned. "Do you think he will be happy that you've seen this video? Look, I never let anyone have it because of what happened to Devon. And to Jason."

"Jason?"

Natalia glanced away. "He was murdered a year after that video was taken."

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

"You have a visitor, Mr. Remondet," Teo announced. "Of sorts. Take a look at the front entrance."

Erik sat forward and switched on his computer monitor, and found himself staring into Christine's eyes. His stomach twisted in knots, and his palms began to dampen. What was she doing here? Wasn't she supposed to be on her way to the airport? "Then show her in."

Just as he said it, she turned and left his stoop, disappearing out of sight. He moved the camera as much as he could, then switched to the street angle. She had stopped about ten feet away and was facing the other direction.

"What is she doing?"

"You've got me. She's done that three times now. Goes to the door but doesn't ring, then leaves. She must have forgotten about all of your cameras."

"Must have," Erik agreed, watching as she approached the door.

She did it again, and he felt a surge of annoyance.

"Enough of this," he muttered. Pressing the intercom as she turned to leave, Erik startled her out of her wits when his voice barked through the speaker. "Do you need something, Christine?"

"Mr. Remondet! Erik! You startled me!" She pressed a hand against her chest, giving a nervous laugh.

"Is there some reason you are here, or do you just enjoy smiling for my surveillance equipment?"

She looked mortified, glancing up at the camera then cursing. "Am I disturbing you?"

"Not at all. Did you leave something here yesterday then?" he asked.

"Not exactly." Christine bit her lip, then stared up at the camera. "May I come in? I need to tell you something."

Erik pressed the button that released the lock on the front door, then walked down into the booth, watching as she entered the studio. She removed a VHS tape from her purse and set it on his keyboard.

"I almost didn't come because I know you're going to be angry," she stated softly, "but I thought you should know. This is a tape of your last performance."

Erik felt his heart constrict, then anger surge through his veins. "And you watched it, did you, Christine?"

"Yes."

Spots of red appeared before his eyes, and he blinked amidst a red haze of rage. This was Christine. He didn't want to hurt her. He cared for her. Hadn't she been on his mind every second since the first time she'd appeared at his door? For the last two months he'd felt a heaviness in his heart, knowing what it was, and what could never be.

"You couldn't resist, could you?" he demanded, his voice taking control and echoing near and far, inside her head and out. "Did you enjoy the performance, Christine? Did you like what you saw in Erik? Was he handsome? Oh, yes, Christine! Erik is very handsome, indeed! Tell him! Tell him what a handsome fellow he is!"

Christine cried out and covered her ears, looking around wildly, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. The voice said things in that terrible way, and Christine doubled over, trying to block out the sounds of his wretched pain.

"Watch it again, Christine! You will see the devil's soul. You will see death, and follow his melody into darkness. Death, Christine! That is all that Erik is and will ever be!"

"Stop!" Christine screamed, raising her head, her expression set into shock and hurt. "Why are you doing this?"

The door to the booth was suddenly wrenched open, and she was staring at that same masked man from the video, only this time she could see his eyes glowing an almost golden color, anger sparking them into an inferno.

"Why, Christine?" he asked, his voice normal once more, but no less frightening. "That is my question to you."

She gulped in air, struggling to rid herself of the voice's lingering effects. "I wanted to see my teacher," she whispered. "Just once."

"Well now you have. So close the door when you leave."

"Wait!" she called, struggling to her feet. "Erik, please wait. I didn't come here to embarrass you or to make you angry with the tape. That wasn't my intention."

"Then what, Christine?" Erik asked, his voice cold and harsh. "Did you think it would endear you to me further? Or perhaps you've come to gain some sort of compensation? A finder's fee, perhaps? I don't pay you, a copy is leaked to the press?"

Christine picked up the tape and approached him, more frightened than ever before. "I would never do that. I'm giving it to you. The only tape that I know of."

He glanced warily at her as she extended the tape. Deftly he grabbed it from her hands, then shrank backward as she took a step closer. "That is far enough, Miss Davis. Keep your distance from Erik."

She stared at him, scrutinizing him in a way that only fed his quietly simmering anger. He knew all that she took in. A bony corpse with a hidden corpse's face. His clothes hung off his frame, shapeless things that did nothing for his appearance, despite the expensive brand. He'd forgotten his gloves, and yes, she was looking at his hands, the elongated fingers with no color and no mercy.

"Mr. Remondet, I understand now why you stay hidden," Christine said, her tone gentle and hesitant. "But I don't think you would have taken a student if you didn't occasionally long for someone to speak with."

"You know nothing about me," he said under his breath.

"I know that you are misunderstood," she replied quietly. "Yes, I've heard the rumors about your temper. That you threw Devon Rhine through a window. I've even heard something more recently about the person who held the camera that night that makes me think maybe I shouldn't even be here. I can't explain why, but your solitude breaks my heart."

Her direct, sincere gaze hypnotized him, stilled the wild beating rhythm of a fatally useless organ. Erik took a step backward into the booth. This girl had no idea what sort of beast she was feeding, giving him something to hope for and to dream of. When she looked at him in that kind way, she made it possible to believe that somewhere out there was a person who could love him. And if he kept it hidden – the ever present darkness - perhaps he might believe it himself.

"Thank you for giving me the tape," Erik said, all emotion drained. "Oh, and just so you know, you are always safe with me. The young man who shot the video, I had nothing to do with his death. I'm not a murderer." Anymore, he added to himself. "He was killed in a drug deal that went wrong."

He waited for her response, and when none was forthcoming, he asked, "Don't you have a plane to catch?" Though he hated to see her go.

"Yeah, I do. I guess I need to get going." She replied.

"I'll have Teo drive you to the airport. Travel safely, Christine."


	8. Ch 7 The Contract

Chapter 7

The Contract

Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж

The plane hit a pocket of turbulence, and Christine's eyes flew open. She was still a nervous flyer even with the several trips she had made between Toronto and New York to see Raoul. She was glad to be headed there now as it had been almost two weeks since she had seen him, and thankfully, the most recent tests had confirmed that the cancer's growth had been slowed by all of the treatment he had received. His sister Mara had finally convinced him to try a few holistic methods as well. Christine was grateful to her for that, having witnessed firsthand the pain and suffering the traditional treatments had caused her father. And when they spoke last night, Raoul told her that he had planned a surprise for her, only laughing at Christine's guess of a new pony.

Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж

"You're going to hurt yourself, Raoul," Christine admonished gently. "Please don't..."

"I can do it myself," he snapped, twisting the tire iron with all his strength, humiliated to find that it wouldn't budge beneath his weak, trembling hands. "Damn tire stations, and their pneumatic equipment! They got these on too tight!"

Christine bit her lip, watching him continue to struggle, grunting and groaning, until at last he gave a sound of anguished defeat. The surprise Raoul had promised her had turned out to be a three day trip to a small cottage in New Hampshire, and they had set out on a beautiful Sunday morning. Three hours into the trip the rental car had blown a tire. She glanced in each direction of the beautiful winding highway, finding it devoid of traffic, houses, or any other sign of human life. She then stared down at her handsome, pale faced fiancé, and put her hands on his shoulders.

"I always wanted to learn how to change a tire," she said softly. "Will you show me?"

His head bowed in defeat, he nodded, but wouldn't look at her.

Raoul positioned himself behind her, guiding her hands to the tire iron, and showing her which way to loosen the lug nuts. His chin rested against her shoulder, and she offered a mischievous smile, hoping to brighten his mood. "I've been trying to get you in this position for weeks. Had I known a blown tire was all it would take...."

She waited, breath held, to see if it would offend him to have intimacy mentioned. After a moment his eyes closed, and his lips spread into a wry smile.

"Yes, that's why I put that nail there. See it?" he murmured, pointing to the object of their delay. "I planned this entire thing just for you, Christine."

He stole a kiss, wrapping one arm across her stomach and pulling her back against his chest. They couldn't make love. It had become an impossibility they had both been forced to accept, but she enjoyed kissing him very much. Raoul still made her feel breathless and cherished, and most of all, loved. His hand twined softly in her hair as his mouth moved across her ear. "Better get a move on, babe," he whispered. "It's going to be getting warm soon, and I have no desire to be trapped in the heat."

Reluctantly she turned back to the car, laughing as Raoul watched her turn the iron, making faces as she did. He jacked the car up several inches, removed the tire himself and set the new one in place, then they both took turns tightening down the lugs. With that complete, they sat in the car for twenty minutes with the air conditioning on, simply so Raoul could catch his breath. Christine snuck a peek at him, alarmed to see how flushed he looked. And it wasn't simply that. His eyes looked weak and tired, and his hands trembled uncontrollably at his sides.

"We should go back to the city, Raoul," she said softly. "You need to see Dr. Colfax."

For once, he did not argue with her, and she turned the car around and headed south.

Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж

Erik studied the printout for the navigation system in the cell phone he had given Christine. Toronto. New York. New Hampshire? What the devil had she been doing in New Hampshire? Her bank statement revealed nothing other than someone else must have been paying her expenses once she arrived in New York, but who? And she hadn't even stayed long, because it seemed she turned around in the middle of nowhere and returned. His gaze grew worried as he read her destinations. What if someone had kidnapped her, dropped her body out in New Hampshire, then returned to the city in the stolen car? Unlikely of course, but given his own previous employment, it was not so preposterous.

He pressed one long finger on his speakerphone, and dialed Riggs.

"Have you heard from Miss Davis today?"

"And hello to you too, Erik," Riggs said cheerfully. "What brings you to the phone on my only day off? And of course, on Miss Davis's day off."

"I'm looking at the computer read out from her GPS device. She has been in New Hampshire this afternoon. I was concerned."

For a long time his employee said nothing, and as the seconds ticked by, Erik felt a strange knowing begin to sink into his stomach. Then Riggs spoke, "You gave her a cell phone, Erik. Call it. If she doesn't answer, or doesn't call you back within a reasonable amount of time, then we'll call out the National Guard."

"Geoffrey..." The single word was spoken as a warning.

"Okay. Let me call her and see what I can find out. I'll call you back."

Geoffrey felt like an idiot calling Christine Davis for Erik, but he feigned needing an immediate answer to a question concerning the contract he was drawing up for her. In the brief chit chat surrounding his ruse, he managed to find the answer to his real question. "She's simply spending a few days with her sick friend in New York." Geoffrey told him. "They took a brief trip over to New Hampshire. That's it."

Riggs paused, waiting for Erik to speak or go into a spectacular rage, but he was oddly silent. A moment later, the dial tone rang in his ear. Erik had hung up on him.

The back of Erik's neck tingled. It was the same sixth sense that had saved his life many times over the years. He knew instinctively that something was very wrong. Oh, he realized now that Christine was in no physical danger. But he also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Natalia Muntz had returned to Seattle. So who then was Christine's sick friend? And what exactly was their relationship?

Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

Christine paced her apartment in Toronto, restless and unsure of what to do with herself. Desperate to talk to Raoul, she had tried calling him this morning, only to be told by Mara that he was sleeping and that she'd convey Christine's message. Raoul had been so angry and distraught yesterday, his pride so wounded by his failure to provide the promised getaway for Christine, that he had ordered her to leave and go back to Toronto.

Christine was hurt at being pushed away. "You don't mean that Raoul," she protested. "We'll just relax here instead - watch some DVD's, pop some popcorn, snuggle on..."

"Damn it, NO, Christine!" He shouted, although the effort left him weak and breathless. He had refused to listen to any of her arguments, becoming angrier and more stubborn the more she insisted on staying. She had never seen him that upset before, and she was frightened that he'd have another one of his seizures. In the end, Mara had stepped in and sided with Raoul, although this time not out of animosity toward Christine, but concern for Raoul.

Christine briefly considered doing some cleaning since she hadn't done any in a few weeks and the place certainly needed it, but that idea didn't appeal to her at all. She had a new composition swirling around in her brain, and she had tried to get it on paper, but to no avail. In the end, she decided to go see Erik.

Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

"Welcome back, Christine. You've returned early haven't you?" Erik tried to keep the edge out of his voice, but that was something he had never been very good at.

Christine peered, unsuccessfully, at the darkened glass of the control room, puzzled as to why Erik had gone back to hiding in there. "Yes, I am, Erik. Thanks for agreeing to..." Christine paused, choosing her words, "work with me today, especially on such short notice." Obviously the word "see" was on the banned list again. She wondered how long this was going to last. First Raoul and now Erik. Maybe she'd move back to Seattle with Natalia.

"Of course." He was silent, fighting down his need to question her about the identity of her sick friend. He had let his foolish hope get out of hand, fueled by her genuine kindness and acceptance.

"Let's get to work. You don't have anything yet that would be commercial enough for Shadow to take a risk on," he said acidly. "Familiarize yourself with the music I've left on the keyboard, and I want to see how you do with that."

Christine moved to the keyboard, and picked up the piece of sheet music. She saw immediately that it was her song, Night Rainbow, but other than the title and a few of the lyrics, it had almost nothing in common with her original composition. Christine, studied the piece more carefully, hearing the new version in her head. Damn him! How dare he re-work all of her music without so much as a by your leave. Whereas he had polished and improved Indigo Morning, Christine didn't care at all for this souped up, driving version of Night Rainbow.

"I'm waiting, Christine," he said. "And I'm not a patient man. Let me hear you sing it."

"Erik, I'm sorry, but this arrangement of my song just doesn't work for me at all." Christine was not by nature confrontational, but she was protective of her music.

"Doesn't work for you?" He mimicked sarcastically. "I don't think you're in a position to make that decision, Christine. Now if you want a contract with this company, you'll sing the music I give you. Is that understood?"

Although she was seething with indignation, Christine realized she was in no position to argue, especially on the eve of signing the illusive contract.

Without answering him, Christine began playing through the new music, trying to get the song in her head before he berated her again. He didn't say anything though, he just corrected her timing by clapping the beat loudly over her playing.

"Look at the time signature; you're falling back into the old beat," he ordered when she finished. "Try it again, this time with the lyrics."

Christine took a breath, and played the intro, adding her voice in with her playing at the appropriate place in the music. She'd only sung a couple of bars, when Erik stopped her. "I was hoping this song might be a commercial success, but not the way you're singing it, it won't be. Sing it like you mean it, Christine, put some feeling into it," he commanded.

She started again, trying harder to feel the music Erik had written, but again he stopped her. "You're off key! I asked for feeling, not shrieking!"

Christine knew at this point that there'd be no pleasing him today, but she took a sip of water and began the song once more.

"Stop. I can't take anymore of this torture. Go home and learn this first, and it had better be perfect when you come back tomorrow," he ordered coldly.

"Why are you doing this? What is wrong with you today?" Christine asked before he could escape unseen through the music room.

"Wrong with me? Why there is nothing 'wrong with me', Christine. I believe that it is you who has a problem today." He replied caustically, his patience ready to snap with the effort of suppressing his feelings of hurt and betrayal.

"Maybe you're right, Erik. I do have a problem today. Someone I love is dying." Christine was thankful that she was too angry with him right then to cry. She'd be damned if she'd let him see her cry again.

Someone she loved? So, it was as he suspected. And why not? Of course a woman as beautiful and kind as Christine would have someone who loved her and whom she loved in return. Christine had been the only woman he'd ever known to have treated him as a human being of value, worthy of her respect.

That thought brought him up short, and he realized that she probably deserved better than his treatment of her this morning. Even he could afford to be generous enough to have pity on a dying soul. After all, he was not totally without compassion. It was just that there were so few people who merited it.

"Who, Christine? Who is dying?"

She hesitated, her throat aching with the effort not to cry. "My fiancé." It was all she could get out. She quickly turned away from the control room window, fighting a losing battle with her tears.

The effort it cost Christine not to cry was more painful to watch than if she had broken down, enough so that Erik finally relinquished the anonymity of the sound booth and went to her. He only stood rigidly in front of her, wondering what he should do. Slowly, cautiously, he wrapped his thin arms around her heaving shoulders. The awful word "fiancé" still rang in his head, and it definitely wasn't the ideal situation, but still, the little contact was more than he had ever realistically hoped to have with her.

When she finally began to quiet down, he reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a handkerchief. He gently mopped the tears and the black streaks of mascara from her face before handing it to her for her dripping nose. "Come and sit down, Christine," he said as he led her to the group of chairs. "Would you like to talk about it?" He couldn't believe he was asking when he knew how painful it was going to be to hear about her fiancé. Still, Erik marveled that it was probably the first time in his life that he had felt sympathy for another person, putting someone else's pain before his own.

"There's really not much to tell. Raoul, my fiancé, was diagnosed with a cancerous tumor in his brain four months ago now. The doctors don't give him very much longer to live, so obviously there won't be a wedding."

"If there's so little time, then why did you return early?"

"Raoul had planned a trip to New Hampshire so that we could get away. His older sister is staying with him to take care of him, and she doesn't like me at all," Christine explained. "Anyway, we had a flat tire, and he was unable to change it. He tried, but he started feeling worse from the exertion, and we had to turn around and go back home."

Christine stopped and rubbed her throbbing temples, and then continued. "Once we were back home, he didn't want me to stay with him. He got very angry with me over it, and ordered me to leave."

Erik could see her eyes well up again at the memory. He understood only too well the mortification the poor s.o.b. must have felt and why he had sent her away. He had felt the same thing many, many times in his life, and he had never wanted a witness to it either. "Christine, listen to me. It's hard, impossible sometimes, for a man to let other people see his weakness. Do you understand what I'm telling you? He didn't want you to see him as less than a man. That's why he sent you away."

Christine looked up to see Erik watching her with his golden brown eyes, apparently waiting for a response. She nodded, grateful for his friendship and understanding. He reached out tentatively, gently moving a strand of hair off of her face, "Go home and get some rest now. You've got a meeting with Mr. Riggs in the morning to sign your contract."

Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж

Shadow Entertainment's headquarters were located in a skyscraper several blocks from Erik's residence. The same building was also home to several other corporations, which made Christine's eyes widen as she looked at the directory. Toronto wasn't quite New York, although that wasn't necessarily a bad thing considering it was cleaner and more modern, but it still had a charming metropolis feel that made Christine long to explore it more fully.

She was facing Mr. Riggs and the rest of the executives at Shadow alone – Erik had informed her he did not involve himself in the business aspect of his contracts, although she didn't quite believe him. So far he had proven himself very controlling and a perfectionist in regard to both her singing and the songs that she chose.

Not that she usually minded about the music. Erik assured her that once she was popular she could branch out and try different styles yet still retain the integrity of an individual artist. Trying to reason with him on some things though was absolutely maddening.

Just as she'd grown used to his arctic moods, he was sending her off to face the people who had originally turned her down. Not that his intimidating presence would have helped her nerves. She still paused a block away from his house every day, gathering her nerves, and the courage to enter his home. Christine finally entered the floor where Shadow's president's office was located, and she couldn't help but notice the way people turned to look at her when she gave her name to the secretary.

"Mr. Riggs is expecting you, Miss Davis. Go right in," the woman said, gesturing to a set of double doors.

The more well known Mr. Riggs, bearing a remarkable resemblance to a young Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday, greeted her with an effusive smile. She startled herself when she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirror that made up an entire wall of the office, a stark addition to the gleaming stainless steel and black décor. "Welcome to Shadow, Christine. Mr. Remondet has said wonderful things about you. Have a seat."

Christine smiled nervously, and wondered what exactly Erik had said. Surely not a compliment from Mr. You're Not Singing that Correctly! "I'm not really sure what I'm doing here, to be honest. I don't think I've followed the normal procedure for getting a contract, have I?"

"No," Riggs chuckled. "But if you had the courage to go to his home and he had the fortitude to let you audition, well then, who am I to argue with fate? Mr. Remondet was kind enough to allow me to listen in on one of your sessions."

Christine blinked at him. "You were there? In the booth?"

"I was," Riggs admitted. "Erik likes to do things differently, doesn't he?" Before she could answer, Riggs lifted a hand to silence her. "I'll say this once, Miss Davis. Mr. Remondet has a reputation for being eccentric, but there is no reason for you not to trust him. He is the consummate professional in all things. Just continue to sing well and you will do fine."

Before Christine could stop herself, she leaned forward, looking at Mr. Riggs intently. "There is something that I'm curious about. Why am I still meeting with Mr. Remondet? Don't you have a studio here with your own crew?"

Riggs coughed to cover his momentary hesitation, while stealing a surreptitious glance at his computer monitor where Erik was typing what his next response was to be. "Mr. Remondet very occasionally takes an interest in special new talents that come through Shadow. Since you are an extraordinary talent, he is planning to personally work on your musical arrangements until your accompanists can be found. That shouldn't take too much longer. Once word got out that we were recruiting an orchestra and a traditional band, well, we've been flooded with audition videos." Riggs looked into Christine's reassured blue eyes. "Normally when talent comes in to Shadow, they already have their own band members. Your situation is unique, and I believe Mr. Remondet thinks that could be used to our advantage. We do have a few people on reserve who are already willing to step in and learn your music. Traveling with such an extensive ensemble is difficult and expensive, so we must be sure we have the right musicians for the job."

"Oh." Christine nodded approvingly, although she felt tremendously overwhelmed. This was certainly not what she had expected when coming to Toronto. Turned away? Yes. Returning to New York with her tail between her legs - again? Yes. But she certainly did not expect to have the golden goose on the platter handed to her. She suddenly felt a little frightened that she wouldn't live up to the expectations of her, as they were apparently enormous. "How soon do you expect all this to come together?"

"Within a month to six weeks we should begin recording," Mr. Riggs said, glancing back to the screen. He coughed again, then looked quickly back to Christine. "That is if you have no prior commitments...?"

"Oh, no one wants me," she laughed, thinking he meant contractually, not personally. "I...I do have a personal obligation though. A....friend of mine, actually my fiancé, is very ill, and I have to be in New York sometimes. Cancer treatments."

Geoffrey raised an eyebrow at the word 'fiancé' He wondered if Erik knew that, although he certainly did now. "I understand that, Miss Davis, provided that you are here when we need you." The girl bit her lip, looking anxious, and Geoffrey ignored the rest of Erik's ramblings. "Toronto and New York aren't so very far apart. I'm sure you will manage just fine. And think," he added brightly, "you will no doubt be performing in New York someday. One of our favorite venues for Shadow Entertainment talent is Madison Square Garden. I may be getting ahead of myself there, but one can hope!"

Slightly more satisfied, Christine nodded, but inside her stomach felt as if it were in knots. Raoul's treatments wouldn't work around the obligations she would have if she signed a contract with Shadow, and wasn't that what she was here for today? Raoul had encouraged her to take the contract, and he'd done such a brilliant job of it that only last night she had convinced herself that she could sign and somehow manage to still be there when Raoul needed her. Now with Mr. Riggs shuffling papers around on his desk, and pushing a pen toward her, Christine was full of doubt.

"It's what you've always wanted, Christine. Sign the contract."

"Is there a problem?" Riggs asked when she looked at the contract and hesitated.

"No," she responded softly, listening to a faint humming sound just behind her ear. She recognized Erik's trick from before, and ironically, his pressure had the opposite effect from what he'd intended. She looked down again at the piece of paper in front of her. What was a piece of paper when compared to the life of her fiancé, the life that was edging away so quickly? There'd be time enough for a career when he was gone.

"Sign the contract, Christine."

"Tell Erik I'm sorry," Christine said as she pushed the paper from her and jumping up, hurried from the room.


	9. Ch 8 New York, New York

**Chapter 8**

**New York, New York**

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Christine spent most of the night and the next morning packing up her belongings to return to New York. She still hadn't heard from Raoul since their fight three days earlier, and she certainly didn't have the nerve to talk to Erik. She knew she'd have to call or write him with an explanation, but she wanted to be well away from Toronto and safely back in New York when she did.

Before leaving for the airport, however, she was surprised not once, but twice by a knock on her door. Both times, it was a florist delivering flowers for her. The first was a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses from Raoul with a sweet note of apology for her. The second delivery was a long box containing a single, cream colored rose. There was no note, but Christine didn't need one.

She hadn't called Raoul yet to let him know she was returning not wanting to argue with him again, but after his note and the beautiful flowers, she changed her mind.

"Mara, hi, it's Christine. May I speak with Raoul please?"

Christine heard Mara give a derisive snort, and knew that wasn't going to be possible.

"Of course you can't talk to him, Christine. He had another seizure, and he's been given medication for the pain and to help him sleep. And even if he were awake, I'd be afraid that you'd only upset him again. Haven't you done enough damage already?"

The censure was evident in Mara's voice, and it stung Christine deeply. She obviously blamed Christine for this latest episode after Raoul had become so angry with her. But Dr. Colfax had warned them that personality changes often occurred in patients with brain tumors, and Raoul was obviously not himself. She refused to let Mara make her feel guilty over it.

"I'm returning home, Mara, permanently. I'm flying out in a couple of hours. Tell Raoul I'll see him then." Christine ended the call before Mara could argue anymore. She understood that Mara loved her brother and was probably overly protective of him, but Raoul was her fiancé.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Christine unlocked the door to their New York apartment and let herself in, just as Mara came down the stairs, her lips pursed in disapproval at Christine's arrival.

"So, are you really here to stay?" Mara asked. "Come on in then, and let me take your coat," she offered despite her obvious feelings.

Christine noticed that the fine lines around Mara's eyes were more evident than before, and she saw how tired Mara was. Realization washed over Christine at all Mara had taken on for Raoul's sake. No wonder Mara resented Christine for seeming to come and go at her own convenience. After a moments hesitation, Christine walked over to Mara and gave her a grateful hug.

"Mara, thank you for all that you have done. Thank you from both of us." Christine told her sincerely. Christine felt Mara stiffen, but she eventually relented and hugged Christine back. When the two women separated, Christine told her, "I was never lucky enough to have brothers or sisters, Mara, and I know Raoul loves you very much."

Mara's blue eyes, so much like Raoul's, welled up with tears, and for the first time, Christine saw an emotion other than anger or resentment in them. "Go on up and let him know that you're here. I'll fix you some lunch." Mara said in her usual brusque manner to cover the emotion.

"Why don't you relax for a bit, Mara? I'll fix us both lunch after I've spent some time with Raoul." Christine said softly. Mara agreed gratefully, and went back upstairs to her room.

Christine followed her up the stairs, quietly entering their room. She perched carefully on the edge of the bed, not wanting to wake Raoul if he was still sleeping. His closed eyelids were nearly translucent, the purple veins clearly evident. He looked much older now than his thirty-six years - his face was gaunt, and his skin had a deathly pallor. He had lost all of his sandy brown hair as well as his eyelashes and eyebrows. She reached out and stroked his cheek tenderly, causing him to stir.

"You didn't need to come back." His eyes remained closed and his speech was slow.

"I wanted to thank you in person for the beautiful roses." Christine kidded gently.

"I'm sorry I was such jerk." He paused for so long that Christine thought he had drifted off again. But he seemed to rouse himself and continued. "I'm glad you liked them. Poor substitute for a stay in New Hampshire..."

"There'll be another time..."

"No, Chris, there won't be. You have to accept this now. I have." He stopped for a moment and then continued. "You don't have to keep coming back here. You shouldn't have to watch this. I know what you went through with your father." Christine reached over and picked up his hand, kissing the back of it. "I want to be here with you, Raoul. I plan to stay."

He sat up, though Christine could tell the effort cost him, and stared at her intently before asking, "What about your contract?"

"I told Mr. Remondet I'd sign it when I got back." She silently asked forgiveness for her white lie, hoping that was the meaning of Erik's rose.

"And there's nothing I can say that will change your mind?" He asked.

"Nope, I'm afraid not," Christine replied, smiling because he had taken it so much better than she thought he would.

"I just hate that on top of everything I'm putting you through, you're giving up your career for me."

"I'm not giving anything up, Raoul. I'm only postponing it. What would you have done if the situation were reversed." she asked him perceptively.

Raoul stopped and appeared to think about her question, but Christine could tell that she had hit her mark. "Just what you did." He finally admitted.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Raoul had rallied enough from his collapse that by the end of the week they were able to take Mara out to dinner before she returned to Connecticut. They went to Pudding Stones, an Upper West Side restaurant that was a chic fusion of American and French cuisine. Raoul had voted for Brother Jimmy's Barbeque, but Christine, aware of Mara's healthy food choices, steered them away from there, promising Raoul that they'd eat at the meat heavy spot the next time they ate out.

Mara and Raoul regaled Christine with stories of their youth, and Christine got a very different picture of their upbringing than the one she had supposed.

"Christine, ask me why I still jump into bed from about six feet out." Mara said, taking a sip of her wine.

"Okay, I'll bite. Why in the world do you do that?" Christine responded.

"Because Raoul used to think it was funny to hide under my bed and grab my ankle as I climbed in, making horribly scary noises to boot!" Mara explained.

Raoul chuckled at the memory. "Remember watching scary movies every Friday night?" He asked his sister. "Terror in the Night was the name of the program, and it came on after we were supposed to be asleep," he explained to Christine. "God, how we loved being scared to death."

"Raoul had the patience of Job," Mara went on. "He could hide in my closet for hours to scare me."

"No, not hours. You make me sound weird." Raoul protested.

"You were weird," Mara returned, laughing.

"Christine, do you want to know what Philip's children call her," Raoul prompted.

Christine looked over at Mara and grinned. "Sure, let me hear it."

"A.W., which stands for Aunt Weird." he supplied.

"Aww, come on, Mara isn't weird," Christine said, coming to Mara's defense. "Why would they call you that?"

"Because I'm a vegetarian and I meditate. And....," here Mara paused dramatically and feigned a glare at her brother. "A certain uncle of theirs prompted them to do it."

Christine was laughing so hard and enjoying their stories so much that she had hardly touched her food, delicious though it was. She and Mara had both ordered seafood, while Raoul had opted for the restaurant's signature steak and fries, although he had only eaten a portion of it. Still, Christine was happy to see his appetite had returned even to that extent.

They finished their meals, and deciding they were too full to order dessert, paid the check. "Ladies, I'm afraid it's past my bedtime," Raoul said, only half joking. "Let's go home. And you, dear sister, have an early flight tomorrow as well."

"That I do," Mara agreed. Turning to Christine she added, "And don't forget to check under your bed tonight!"

They were still laughing when the cab pulled up to take them back to the apartment. Raoul hadn't failed to notice the detent in the relationship between Christine and his sister, and it made him glad.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

"Are you sure you'll be alright if I go out tonight?" Christine asked, pushing a decorative pin into her upswept hair.

She had been surprised to read the advertisement in the entertainment section for the concert given by a new singing sensation - managed by Shadow Entertainment. She immediately went on-line and bought a ticket, although in hind sight, she guiltily wondered if it was only because it was a Shadow Entertainment production, rather than to hear the actual performer. Honestly, did she think that Erik Remondet would magically appear in one of the boxes just as he had at the musical in Toronto?

"I'll be fine. Go ahead and enjoy yourself," Raoul told her. "You look beautiful tonight, Chris. I'm sorry I can't take you."

She leaned over and gave him a kiss. "Thanks, sweetheart. I promise I won't be late and I'll leave my cell phone on vibrate in case you need anything," she reminded him.

"Chris...," he growled. Raoul hated to be reminded of his helplessness.

"Okay, okay, I'm going," she said, and headed down the stairs and out the door.

Christine always worried whenever she left Raoul alone, even if it was only for a short while. He was terribly weak now, and his balance had been compromised by the tumor - she knew it was only a matter of time before they were going to have to put a bed in the office downstairs for him.

Raoul had good days and bad days. On the good days, if he was feeling up to it, he was able to get out of bed and go downstairs, where they would watch a DVD, or Christine would read to him, or they would just talk. He still read the Wall Street Journal daily if he was able, and occasionally he spoke on the phone with his brother regarding his old accounts, which Philip had now taken over. Less frequently some of their old friends called to check on him. People their age seemed to want to distance themselves from death and dying. She couldn't really blame them she thought as she hailed a cab to Madison Square Gardens.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Erik studied the patrons filing into the WaMu Theater, the smaller venue in the Madison Square Gardens complex, from his box where he could observe without being seen himself. He had gone to a lot of trouble and expense to stage this concert and only in the hope that Christine would see the ad in the entertainment section or one of the various posters around town, or hear the announcements on radio and television, and attend. Geoffrey had been furious with him for doing it as he was pushing one of their new performers into the New York spotlight before the he was ready for it. Erik wasn't particularly worried about it as the young man reminded him somewhat of himself and Erik felt that his performer would rise to the challenge. What Erik was worried about was that Christine wouldn't be here and all of his planning would be in vain.

Finally! Just before the house lights went down, Christine rushed in and took her seat. He would have an usher deliver the rose and an invitation to join him in his box at the intermission then. Although he didn't know how he'd manage to wait that long knowing she was so close.

Erik was quite pleased that he was right, as usual about the young performer. The young man performed extremely well, his few mistakes so minor that only another professional like Erik would be aware of them. The music was in the stupidly named, in Erik's opinion, "popera" style of Andrea Bocelli or Josh Groban, and Erik was glad that his efforts wouldn't be wasted either on this young man's behalf or with Christine.

The house lights finally came back up to a thunderous ovation, signaling the brief intermission. Before Erik could summon the usher to deliver his message, he saw that Christine's seat was already empty. Surely she couldn't have left. Perhaps she just needed to powder her nose. Well, he'd just have to be patient; he really had no choice as he certainly couldn't go wandering around the crowded lobby looking for her.

Erik was beside himself when Christine failed to retake her seat at the start of the second act. She had obviously left and he was bereft to have been so close to her, and yet failed to make contact. He slipped unnoticed out of a side door of the theater to his waiting limousine, and ordered the driver to take him to de Chagny's address. The car pulled up to the curb opposite their apartment and parked. Erik stared at the faint light that shone from one of the downstairs windows for quite some time, pondering what he should do now.


	10. Ch 9 Final Bequest

**Chapter 9**

**Final Bequest**

**(Two Months Later)**

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Christine unlocked the door to their New York apartment and let herself in. She never failed to be temporarily disoriented by the changes in what was to have been their first home together as newly weds. A hospital bed had been moved into the smaller library/den off of the living room, and Raoul lay on it, deathly pale and still. A wheelchair was waiting in the corner next to the bed, and a nurse in pastel scrubs was taking his blood pressure.

Christine found a vase for the fresh flowers she'd bought and put away the few groceries. Raoul ate almost nothing these days, and she was content with salads, so she did little cooking. She made herself a cup of tea and took it back to the den, where she stood in the doorway, waiting for the nurse to finish.

"Is that you, Christine?" Raoul asked. The tumor had grown and was now pressing on the optical nerve leaving Raoul with very little sight.

"No, it's your lucky day. It's Megan Fox." Christine joked. She continued to try to be upbeat around him, saving her depression and tears until late at night when she was alone upstairs in their room.

That got a small smile out of Raoul. "I'd say Christine Davis is a better catch than Megan Fox any day." He teased her back. "But then my vision isn't what it used to be."

"Raoul! It's a good thing I'm not the type to kick a man when he's down, or you'd be in real trouble."

"Come here," he requested. Christine walked over to the bed and took his outstretched hand. He pulled her toward him and kissed her as an apology for his feigned insult.

"A few more of those and I just might have to forgive you." She laughed. Christine noticed that Raoul looked fairly serious as if he had something on his mind. "What?" She prodded.

"We've never talked about my will," he began. "I thought we'd have years together before the subject ever had to come up."

"Oh, Raoul, you don't have to..."

"Yes, Christine, I do. We need to have this talk now, while I'm still able to." That comment caused tears to burn in Christine's eyes, but she set her cup down and carefully sat beside him on the edge of the bed and waited for him to continue.

"Most of my assets are on paper only, and aren't liquid. Much of my net worth is based on my share of the various companies, and all of that will revert back to Philip and Mara and their heirs. I would have been able to give you a good life with a longer time to grow my equity, and as my client base and ventures grew." Raoul paused, looking sad and weary. "Even this apartment is in the company's name for tax reasons, and I'm sure Philip will want to sell it."

"Raoul, it's okay, I understand. Truly I do." Christine interjected. She didn't want Raoul becoming upset over something as inconsequential to her as money.

"Well, I've given you the bad news first, but there is some good news. It was my point for having this conversation. I'm leaving you everything that I can leave you - all of my cash, and the outside stocks and bonds. It's not as much as I'd like, but if you're careful, you won't have to work."

Christine was so overcome with emotion that she found it hard to speak. She was glad that Raoul couldn't see her tears. She reached out her hand and gently stroked his face. "You didn't have to do anything, sweetheart. You've already done so much for me."

He shook his head slightly as if to dismiss what she'd just said. "Notice I said you wouldn't have to work. But Christine, I really want you to continue your career. It's right there, within your grasp. Everything you've dreamed of. Please don't stop because of this," he begged. "Promise me, Chris, that you'll keep singing."

Christine thought about what he was asking of her, and how hard it would be to go back to singing and performing when he died. After all, Raoul's wanting to see her on stage had been a big part of the dream too. Would she want it as much when he was gone?

"What's wrong, honey?" He asked when she failed to respond.

"I just don't know if I'll be able to when..." She trailed off, unable to speak the words.

"You can, and you will," he insisted. "Trust me, Chris, it will be the one thing you'll have to hold on to. And I'll always be there with you. Don't ever forget it."

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

She had been gone for over three months now, and everyday his attachment to her became more apparent. Her first, and only, letter had arrived after five days, but it had taken him three more to work up the courage to open it. What if she were never coming back? What if it was only a very polite thank you, but goodbye note? When he finally managed to open it, he found that it was a polite thank you note, but she had left the question of her return, or not, open ended. He didn't blame her. He had subjected her to enough of his temper that she would have to be in doubt of her reception were she to return, or the wisdom of even trying to. Anger had always been the easiest emotion for him - simultaneously a powerful offense and an effective defense. He doubted he needed either with Christine, and so would have to work very hard to control it around her.

And then there was always the other alternative – that once the poor sod finally passed on, she wouldn't even want to sing anymore. That was too dreadful for him to contemplate, after all, he had loved her voice before anything else. He focused instead on what he could do to assure her return.

In the meantime he scoured the New York Times obituaries every day, but evidently the boy was still alive. He considered making another trip to New York to check on her; laughing at how ridiculously easy it had been to find them. The boy obviously had nothing to hide and probably slept with a clear conscious at night, although Erik's investigation hadn't revealed the same nicety about his father and older brother.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Christine walked the few blocks to the park, enjoying the crisp morning air and the bustle of the city starting its day around her. While she hated being away from Raoul even for a few hours, she desperately needed a break from nurses, medications, and most heart wrenching of all, Raoul's skeletal countenance. She had done a little composing during the time she had been back in New York, but this was the first musical event she had attended, second if she counted the aborted Shadow Entertainment concert. She missed the energy of hearing live performances.

One or the other of the three major television networks held concerts each week through out the spring and summer, and today Jennifer Hudson was performing in Central Park. Christine was dying to hear her, even though it necessitated rising before dawn and leaving Raoul alone for the morning with only the day nurse.

The area in Central Park where the concert was being held was already packed when she got there, and people jostled for position close to the stage. Ruefully, Christine realized that she probably wouldn't see very much, but she was content to hear Jennifer Hudson's powerful voice.

She strolled the edge of the crowd, watching the technicians prepare the stage and equipment. She longed to be on a stage like that and wondered, not for the first time, if she had irretrievably thrown her chance away. Jennifer Hudson was announced, and Christine's bleak thoughts were drowned out by the noise of the crowd.

Christine was enthralled by Jennifer's powerful vocals, and with the variety of music she performed that morning - everything from the Broadway powerhouse songs for which she was known to the more current R & B numbers from her latest CD. Christine was excited to think of the possibilities for her own career, as even though she trusted Erik's guidance, she didn't want to be stuck in just the symphonic metal genre.

There was an extended break while the morning program ran the national news and the national and local weather spots before they returned to the concert coverage. Christine pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and checked the time. As she looked back up, she was struck by a feeling of familiarity when she spotted a tall figure in the distance, dressed in what looked like black, partially obscured by a tree. The person standing next to her, moved just enough to block her view, and Christine had to step around him to get a better look. Nothing. Whoever or whatever she had seen, was no longer there. She had probably just imagined it anyway.

Christine was torn between staying for the rest of the concert and getting back to Raoul. Worry finally overcame her, so she opted to leave to go get their food before it got any later. She scrutinized the crowd carefully on her way out of the park, and periodically scoured the tree line at its edges for the shadowy figure. She felt foolish when she realized what she was doing, that she was actually looking for Erik here in New York.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

By the time she'd stopped and gotten some food to take home, Christine was so worried that something might have happened to Raoul in her absence that she practically flew into their apartment while trying to be as quiet as possible doing it. She was surprised to find Raoul comfortably ensconced on the sofa in the living room, and Molly, the day shift nurse, knitting in one of the wing chairs. They both looked up in surprise at her frantic entrance.

"Oh. Hi. I thought you might be sleeping, sweetheart," Christine said. She looked down at her watch and realized that it was still another half an hour until Raoul's next dose of medication.

"I thought I might be more comfortable out here; I needed a change of scenery. Aren't you home early, Chris? The concert isn't over already is it?"

Molly took the bags of food from Christine and started for the kitchen to give them their privacy. "Would you like something to drink with your lunch, Ms. Davis?" She asked Christine. "I was just going to make some tea for myself."

"That would be great, Molly. Thanks," Christine answered before turning back to Raoul. "I got restless and decided to come on back home."

"Restless - that must be the new euphemism for you were worried about leaving me here," he guessed.

Christine looked embarrassed, not that Raoul could see her expression, but he had become very adept at reading her tone of voice as well as her silences. "Okay, guilty," she confessed. She knew that Raoul hated to be babied and made to feel like an invalid, but her guilt over leaving him alone had gotten the best of her this morning.

"Christine, you left a registered private nurse here. If anything had happened, she would have taken care of it," he said with more than a little exasperation in his voice. "Only one of us is dying. You don't need to give up your life too."

Christine took a deep breath to steady herself. Raoul was so testy and short tempered lately, much more so than he had ever been. She didn't know if it was the effects of the cancer and the medication, or the fact that he was dying, or a combination. "I don't feel that spending time with you is giving up my life," she replied softly. "If anything, it's enjoying an important part of my life while I still can." Christine hated these discussions and the inevitable emotions they brought up in her.

"I brought the smoked fish platter from Barney's - do you think you could eat a little?" She asked changing the subject. Christine had been much more successful than Mara had been at getting Raoul to eat, mainly because she didn't worry about what he ate so much as just getting the calories into him.

"Sure, I'll try some," he responded without enthusiasm. Christine could tell he was only trying to appease her. The smoked fish platter from Barney Greengrass's was served with fresh bagels, slabs of cream cheese, tomatoes, onions, and sides of potato salad or cole slaw, and had been a favorite of theirs since they had lived in the Upper West Side.

Molly reappeared and handed Christine a steaming mug of tea, and then joined them for lunch at Christine's request. The women enjoyed the meal, eating some of everything, but Raoul only toyed with his food. Christine looked over at him and noticed his brow was creased with pain, but Molly was there ahead of her.

"It's time for your medication, Mr. de Chagny." she announced. Christine and Molly helped Raoul back into bed, and Molly administered the next dose of pain medication. Christine stayed beside him, humming softly and holding his hand until he drifted off to sleep.


	11. Ch 10 Transitions

Chapter 10

One Month Later

Transitions

Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

Mrs. de Chagny and Mara stood hesitantly in the doorway, the family resemblance evident in their matching expressions, both looking fearful at what Christine had to say. Mara had come to New York to see Raoul every three or four weeks since Christine had been back from Toronto, and on a few occasions Mrs. de Chagny had accompanied her, but even so, Christine had dreaded having to call them last night when Raoul took a sudden turn for the worse.

"Mrs. de Chagny, Mara, come in." Christine stood aside and let them into the apartment. Mara immediately looked past her into the now empty den that had been used as Raoul's hospital room for the past two months. She turned back to Christine, the question evident in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, but Raoul..." Christine couldn't get the words out and only shook her head sorrowfully as tears streamed down her face. She had known the end was getting close when she called Raoul's mother and sister, but she had thought they would at least get to spend a bit of time with him and be able to say goodbye before it happened.

Mara knew exactly what Christine was trying to tell her, and broke into the gulping sobs of a person unused to crying. Christine took her into her arms, and they clung to each other like sisters, crying until they had no more tears. Mrs. de Chagny watched them in embarrassed silence for a moment before moving past them into the living room.

"Which funeral home have you called?" Mrs. de Chagny asked. "I hope you haven't called the wrong one."

Mara rolled her eyes, and Christine returned a rueful smile as she answered. "I haven't called anyone yet, Mrs. de Chagny. The paramedics only left a couple of hours ago."

"Mother, let's take your things upstairs and get you settled before we start making arrangements," Mara interjected, picking up her mother's small suitcase. "I'll put on some coffee while you do that," Christine said. "And I've laid out fresh linens in the guest room for you."

"Thanks, Christine. I'll be back down in a bit to help you," Mara told her.

"Mara, are you coming?" Mrs. de Chagny called impatiently to her daughter. "There's much to be done and not a lot of time."

"Coming Mother," Mara replied. Turning to Christine she said, "Unfortunately, Philip is just like her, as you'll soon find out. And Father was even worse. Raoul was the nicest one in the family." Mara paused, sentiment coming unnaturally to her. "I'm really going to miss him."

The two days leading up to the funeral were a blur of phone calls, planning and of course, the arrival of Raoul's older brother, Philip. He flew in from Europe, along with his wife and youngest daughter, where he lived in order to oversee the family business holdings there.

The funeral was held at the massive Cathedral of St. John the Divine, at Raoul's mother's insistence, even though Raoul and Christine had attended the much smaller Church of the Transfiguration whenever they went to church. Christine had been surprised at the huge number of mourners in attendance; she had forgotten how important and powerful the de Chagny family was in the city. Even members of the press were there.

By the time of the actual service, Christine was numb with grief and exhaustion. She supposed she stood and kneeled at the appropriate places in the service, and she remembered that at least she hadn't embarrassed Raoul's patrician family with any plebeian sobs. She wondered if she would have been able to sing at the funeral without breaking down. She would have liked to have sung a final song for her fiancé, but no one had asked her, and she hadn't had the foresight to suggest it. Thankfully, there had been no graveside service as Raoul was laid to rest in the family mausoleum.

The morning after the service as Mara and her mother were preparing to leave, Christine overheard Mrs. de Chagny discussing her engagement ring. It had belonged to Raoul's great grandmother, although most likely it had never been used as an engagement ring.

"It's not right for her to keep that ring, Mara. It belonged to Grandmother Brittle." complained Mrs. de Chagny.

"I'm sure Christine will understand if you ask her for it back, Mother. She probably hasn't even thought about it the state she's in."

"I don't feel right asking for it. I wonder what the proper etiquette is in a situation like this. I know that an engagement ring technically belongs to the woman, but surely this is an extenuating circumstance since it's a family heirloom." Mrs. de Chagny rationalized.

The ring was a wide platinum band in an open vine design, set with a combination of marcasite and pavé diamonds. Christine loved it for its beauty as well as for its unconventional design. But after hearing their conversation, Christine removed the ring from her finger and handed it to Raoul's mother as she was leaving. At least Mrs. de Chagny had the grace to look embarrassed.

Once she was finally alone again in their apartment, Christine wandered from room to room in a daze, thinking of all she had lost and wondering what she was going to do with herself. She realized that for all intents and purposes, she was now homeless. Raoul had told her that the apartment was in the company name and so was no longer hers, and she had given up the apartment in Toronto that Shadow had leased for her.

Raoul had also spoken of an inheritance, but Christine knew from what Philip had said that it would probably take months, if not longer, to probate Raoul's will. Other than her one letter of apology to Erik, she hadn't been in touch with him either during this time, nor had she heard from him, so she had no idea if she still had a future with Shadow Entertainment, or if she even wanted one now.

Christine was too worn out to dwell on any of that now. She didn't want to start crying again, afraid that if she started, she'd never stop. She finally stopped pacing and stretched out on the sofa where she drifted into a fitful sleep.

She was in the most beautiful light with opalescent colors swirling through the white brilliance. She could see a figure approaching her, and strained to make out who it was. Suddenly he was standing in front of her - Raoul, smiling and radiant.

"Christine, I just had to tell you one more time how much I love you," he said.

"Raoul, you're here," she said with wonder. "I love you too. I already miss you so much."

"I know you do," he said softly. "Christine, listen to me; there's something I need to say to you." He paused and Christine could feel his love for her emanating from him. "You must continue with your music, okay? Promise me that you will, Christine. And not just for me, but for yourself as well."

"I promise, Raoul." How did he know how torn she was about her future, she wondered.

"There's no need to grieve for me, Christine; I'm fine now. I want you to go on with your life and be happy."

The light seemed to dim after that, and she lost sight of him. But Christine was immensely comforted to have had one last chance to speak with her fiancé. When she awoke in the morning, she was stiff from having spent the night on the sofa, but she felt a calm resolve that certainly hadn't been there before and she knew she had Raoul to thank for it. And best of all, Christine now had the beginnings of a plan.

Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

Christine glanced at Erik's security monitor before ringing his doorbell. After working with him for two months, she was not the frightened supplicant she had been before. No, this time, she was going to try a different tack. She knew Erik had a sense of humor though he rarely showed it, so she planned to use humor and chutzpah to convince him to give her another chance at a contract.

It had taken Christine the better part of two weeks to get the nuts and bolts of her plan worked out. She'd had to pack up her possessions, although most of the furniture had either been bought by Raoul and thus stayed with the apartment, or antiques, which belonged to his family. A small moving van had easily moved the remainder of the items to Toronto for her, and she'd bought a few necessary pieces when she got there.

The most difficult task Christine had faced was finding a place to live from another state. But with the help of the internet and a very capable real estate agent, Christine had located a comfortable yet reasonably priced apartment. She did worry, if she let herself, that she was getting the cart before the horse by renting an apartment in Toronto before she talked to Erik, but she couldn't face a hotel room again, and then she'd have had to store her possessions. She had decided to proceed as if she already had the recording contract.

She looked up again and saw the camera move a bit to focus on her. She knew Erik was in there watching her; he rarely left the place. A doorstep audition had worked for her before, and she was going to make it work again. So without hesitation, Christine launched into Fanny Brice's I'm the Greatest Star from the show, Funny Girl:

Listen,

I've got thirty-six expressions--

Sweet as pie to tough as leather,

And that's six expressions more

Than all them Barrymores put together.

Instead of just kicking me

Why don't they give me a lift?

It must be a plot,

'Cause they're scared that I got

Such a gift--well, I'm miffed--'cause

I'm the greatest star--

I am by far, but no one knows it!

Wait, they're gonna hear a voice,

A silver flute--ah hah, ah hah--

They'll cheer each toot

(Yay! She's terrific!)

When I expose it!

Now, can't you see to look at me

That I'm a nach'ral Camille?

As Camille I just feel

I've so much to offer.

Kid, I know I'd be divine because

I'm a nach'ral cougher.

(coughs)

Teo took advantage of the break when Christine coughed to interrupt her performance. "Miss Davis..."

Christine held her hand up in the universal sign for 'stop' and plowed on.

Some ain't got it--not a lump,

I'm a great big clump of talent!

Laugh!

They'll bend in half.

(Did you ever hear the story about the traveling salesman?)

Teo was close to losing his inscrutable expression to a grin as Christine had delivered that last line with a heavy Brooklyn accent. He tried once again to tell her she was wasting her time here. "Miss Davis, please listen to me. Mr. Remondet...." That was as far as he got as she continued to sing over him, convinced that it was Mr. Remondet himself who was listening to her.

A thousand jokes:

Stick around for the jokes,

A thousand faces. I reiterate,

When you're gifted,

Then you're gifted,

These are facts--I got no axe to grind.

Hey, what are they--blind?

In all of the world so far

I'm the greatest star!

Who is the pip with piz-azz?

Who is all ginger and jazz?

Who is as glamorous as?

Who's an American Beauty rose

With an American Beauty nose,

And ten American Beaty toes,

Eyes on the target, and wham--

One shot, one gun shot and bam!

Hey, Mr. Ziegfeld, here I am!

I'm the greatest star,

I am by far,

But no one knows it!

That's why I was born--

I'll blow my horn

Till someone blows it!

I'll light up like a light

Right up like a light

I'll flicker, then flare up

All the world's gonna stare up

Lookin' down

You'll never see me--

Try the sky,

'Cause that'll be me.

I can make 'em cry,

I can make 'em sigh,

Someday they'll clamor

For my dram-er.

Have you guessed yet,

Who's the best yet?

If you ain't I'll tell you one more time.

You bet your last dime

In all of the world so far

I'm the greatest, greatest star!

Even Teo was impressed at Christine's ability to hold the last note. At least he had gotten it all on tape; Mr. Remondet would undoubtedly enjoy her performance. It might even make him laugh, although that might be going a bit far. "Ahem, are you finished now, Miss Davis?" Teo asked at what seemed to be the conclusion of her song.

"Hello, Teo. Yes, I'm finished. Erik, may I please come in? I've got a lot I'd like to talk to you about if I may."

The door opened and Teo stood in front of her. "I have been trying to tell you, Miss Davis. Mr. Remondet is not at home."

Christine knew better than to believe Teo. Erik paid Teo to say he wasn't at home. "Teo, I know he's in there watching the moniter. Please may I go in and speak with him?"

"Miss Davis, really, he is not here. He left yesterday."

Christine was stunned. She had gone through all of that and he wasn't even here? "Where did he go," she asked. "And did he say when he would be back?"

Even though Teo knew Mr. Remondet had gone to New York City, probably looking for Miss Davis, although he hadn't said so, Teo also knew it would cost him at least his job and possibly his life if he ever revealed Mr. Remondet's location to anyone without Mr. Remondet's express permission.

Christine watched as the shuttered expression descended over Teo's face, and she knew she wasn't going to get any information out of him. Teo bowed slightly and stepped back to close the door. "I will tell Mr. Remondet you were here. Good bye, Miss Davis."

Christine returned home, entirely deflated. She had really psyched herself up for her performance for Erik, and now she wasn't sure what she should do next, whether to go back every day until she found him at home, call him like a normal person would do, or simply wait to see if he called her. She wished she could call Raoul and talk to him about her setback, and ask his advice. The reality of his permanent absence from her life depressed her even further; she was glad she had bought some wine yesterday, now she only hoped that she could remember where she had put the cork screw.

Author's Note: I haven't thanked you wonderful readers in a while, and I'd be remiss if I didn't let you all know how great I think you are! I'm thrilled that so many people are reading this story. And umm, you know, if you'd care to leave a note, a very small note would be fine, that makes me deliriously happy. Erik sends roses to all who have faithfully reviewed.

I did a lot of research to find an engagement ring for Christine that both looked like an heirloom, yet didn't look like a traditional engagement ring. If you remember earlier in the story, Erik sees her constantly fiddling with "a silver ring, but definitely not an engagement ring". It was important that Christine told him about her engagement, not that he found it out from seeing a ring. So here it is:

www dot davidclayjewelers dot com slash ?idProduct=47

Replace the words dot and slash with the actual symbols and remove the spaces.


	12. Ch 11 Little Song Bird

**Chapter 11**

**Little Song Bird**

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

The stray, a bony mutt with sagging skin and matted hair, shied away from Erik as he stood behind the street lamp just beyond the courtyard to Christine's apartment. The window was bright in her kitchen, but the rest of them remained dark and silent, much like the night around him. He whistled soft and low, and the animal turned to gaze at him with wary eyes before trotting away alone.

"We're not so different," Erik told the dog, who was not inclined to reply.

He had given her almost two weeks of privacy after reading the obituary before he went to New York to try to see her. He hadn't wanted to push her too hard or too fast, realizing that that was where he had erred with her before. He had of course checked the GPS readings from her cell phone before he left to confirm that she was still in New York. But after spending two days observing their apartment from various hidden vantage points, it became apparent to him that no one was living there. It took every bit of Erik's self control to stifle the rising panic he felt at having missed her, and he wasted no time in returning to Shadow's headquarters in Toronto to track her down. In the end, the trip to his office had been unnecessary as Teo was able to supply him with a complete update, including video, on Miss Davis. Erik was both shocked and relieved to find that Christine was already back in Toronto.

It was very late. Christine was probably asleep, and he had no business being here, but somehow he'd come anyway. He started to argue with himself, a mental game, to see if it might be alright if he slipped into her home unnoticed and uninvited, or if he should return home and watch the recording of her private moment of grief at the funeral, which the media had provided so tastelessly.

Yet just when sanity had triumphed, sheer white curtains fluttered out onto the balcony on the breeze, catching his eye. Her door must be open, something which he did not consider safe. Within minutes he'd easily climbed to the fourth floor via the fire escape. She was sitting beside a single candle, a picture frame lying face down in her lap, and he could hear her sobbing softly. He watched her for a moment, thinking her beautiful even with the effects of crying. Most certainly she had only come back to her career, not to him, but still, she was here. He would have more time with her. He knocked slightly to alert her to his presence, and she jerked upright, her eyes wide.

"Erik! H-how did you get in?"

"It is not important."

"I wanted to call you after the funeral. I wanted to thank you. Raoul's sister, Mara, was even grateful for the beautiful arrangement that you sent," Christine murmured.

"He was important to you," Erik replied with some difficulty.

Christine's speech was slightly slurred, and he glanced down to the wine bottle, lifting it to find it more than half empty. It was cool and slightly damp in the room from the night air.

"You shouldn't be sitting here with these doors open," Erik said somewhat harshly, shutting the doors and locking them. He turned to find her staring up at him, her gaze empty and expression blank. "Christine, how much wine have you had?"

"Enough," she replied, smiling slightly. "But not nearly enough."

"Thank you for clearing that up."

"Would you like a glass?" She leaned in, lowering her voice, as if she were speaking to a co-conspirator in a nefarious endeavor. "You may want to get another bottle from the kitchen. This one is mine."

"So this is what humans do when they grieve," Erik muttered to himself as he located her kitchen in the dark and found a bottle of red in the wine chiller. He grimaced though at the label, and placed it back upon the shelf. Her kitchen was untidy, and a quick glance at the refrigerator revealed almost no nourishing food.

"When is the last time that you ate?" Erik asked, going back to her side.

"When I got in...pizza...it was disgusting," she replied vaguely, propping her chin in her hand. She looked up at him, and offered a weak smile. "Are you worried about me, Erik?"

"You need your strength, Christine." He sat down across from her, and rubbed his hands together briskly.

"Fine then. When is the last time that you ate?"

Erik ignored her question, stripped a powder blue blanket from the arm of the sofa, then handed it to her. "I assume you've come back to resume your career - to record and to tour. If so, then you have to stay healthy. Keep your mind clear." Christine looked at him blankly. 'That boy certainly picked a fine time to die,' he thought silently. "I am concerned. As your producer."

"Not as a friend?"

His heart caught slightly, tripping in his chest at the unexpected endearment. For a moment he said nothing, just stared at a spot to the left of her head, allowing the words to penetrate the thick shell around his emotions. "You....ah. Well, Christine. I suppose that if you wish to rank me among that number, then yes."

She nodded, as if satisfied with his conclusion, but then she was silent for so long, leaning her face against the contour of her chair for a great while, that he thought she might have fallen asleep. But then she murmured a soft sound, like a sigh, and turned to look at him again.

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this," she began, the pain in her voice making him uncomfortable. "He was too young. We should have married and loved each other forever. Not this."

Erik cleared his throat, looking at the floor, the kitchen door, anywhere except for at her. But she just continued to stare at him, and when he finally met her gaze again the look on her face made him wince inwardly.

"Haven't you ever loved someone?" Christine whispered.

He didn't quite know what to say, as the answer just six months ago would have been a most definite no. Just that now, it would be yes, and he couldn't imagine saying it to her, even in a most indirect way. In the end he said nothing.

After several minutes, when nothing more had been said, Erik noticed that Christine's eyes had fluttered shut and her head had lolled against the side of the chair. That can't be comfortable, he thought so he picked her up and carried her to her bed. He laid her on top of the covers, and went back to fetch the throw from the living room. Her eyes were open again when he returned to place it over her.

"Shush now, Christine. Go to sleep."

"You won't leave me will you?"

Erik couldn't believe that she'd even asked. "Not if you'd like me to stay."

A sleepy but affirmative "Mmmm...." was Christine's only response as she fell back to sleep. Erik pulled a chair closer to the bed, and watched her sleep, soothing her with an old Russian lullaby as he did.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Christine couldn't be sure, but she thought she caught a glimmer of amusement in Teo's eyes as he let her in and showed her back to the studio. Finally deciding that she hadn't dreamed Erik's presence in her apartment, she had called him the next morning after taking some aspirin for her pounding head. She had been prepared to have to plead and beg to be given another chance for a recording contract, if he even spoke to her at all, and she was surprised to find that Erik was in a subdued mood and was almost gentle with her. But then, what was Erik if not contradictory and enigmatic?

As she entered the studio, Christine could hear violin music so hauntingly beautiful that she felt a vibration shoot from the top of her head and flow outwardly through her heart, making her feel as if her heart would explode from the sheer beauty of the music. How could such a flawed and angry man create such beauty she wondered. Not for the first time, Christine wished she knew more about him than the bits and pieces of rumor and innuendo that she'd gotten from Natalia.

The music stopped abruptly, and Christine heard him enter the control booth from the music room. "Hello, Christine," he said. He studied her closely, alternating between the monitor and the glass window. He longed to be near her, to touch her soft hair, but after last night, he needed the protection of the enclosure in order to disengage or he would drive himself crazy.

"Hello, Erik. Thank you for let..."

"No," he interrupted. There's no need to thank me." He paused considering. "Are you back then? Is this what you want?"

She smiled crookedly, and Erik could see that she was fighting some emotion. "Yes, it's what I want, if you'll still have me."

He made a noise of dismissal. "Are you sure you're ready to get right back into working?" He didn't want her breaking down and trying to quit midway into rehearsals with a band. Or worse yet, on the road. But who was he kidding? It was himself he was protecting. He needed to be sure of her before he committed anymore of himself or his resources. Although he'd gladly give all of his fortune to keep her near him.

"I'm sure. I came over here as soon as I got back from New York to audition for you again. You missed it." Christine sensed that he was wary, distrustful even of her decision to return.

"Teo showed it to me," he admitted. It had amused Erik to see Christine performing a spunky Vaudeville number, and he had been more than a little impressed with the strength it must have taken for her to set aside her grief to put on such a show for him. Little did she know he'd watched the video a dozen times already. "It sounded like you did some practicing while you were away."

"I tried to. Raoul..."

Christine stopped and Erik was afraid she was going to start crying. He wasn't sure if his patience would extend to endless tears for her dead fiancé.

After a moment, she managed to continue dry eyed. "Raoul enjoyed hearing me sing, even if it was just warm-ups and vocalizations."

Erik made no comment at her mention of Raoul, but proceeded to the business at hand. "Christine, the document on top of the keyboard. Get it," he ordered, obviously indicating the sheaf of papers lying on top of the instrument. Thinking he had some new music for her, Christine picked them up and was surprised to see that it was the same contract she had failed to sign four months earlier. She looked toward him questioningly.

"Either sign it now, or don't bother coming back," he told her flatly.

Christine winced, although his attitude wasn't entirely unexpected, and she knew she was lucky that he had let her back in the door at all. She raised her chin and smiled at him. "All right, Erik. I'll be glad to."

She rummaged in her purse for a pen, and when she finally found one, she signed and dated the contract. Finally signing the contract gave Christine a curious sense of belonging, of having a home.

Erik's feelings on the matter however were safely hidden out of sight in the control booth. "We won't do too much today," he told her. "Just some warm ups and scales. I want to see how much work we have to do before you'll be ready to work with a band."

Erik put the violin under his chin, and began to play a warm-up exercise. Taking a breath, Christine straightened her posture and joined in.

Erik led her through one warm-up after the other, moving first higher up the scale and then lower, exploring her range without pushing her voice too much. He finally stopped playing when he was satisfied with the results. "There are some sheets of music marked with solfège on your music stand. Sing those now," he directed.

Again, he accompanied her on the violin, and Christine wondered if these were Erik's original compositions. Even without words, the pieces were beautiful. Some sounded like ballads, some had a classic quality and some even sounded like Russian folk tunes. She sang only the syllables - do, re, mi, etc. that corresponded to the notes, while Erik played.

Knowing when Christine had done enough, Erik stopped her. "That's enough for today. Your voice is getting tired."

"I'm..." She had started to say 'fine' and argue with him, but then realized that he was right. "Maybe you're right. Tomorrow then?" She asked.

"Yes, tomorrow. Drink plenty of fluids and get some rest. Tomorrow will be more strenuous." He watched her gather her belongings and prepare to leave, feeling even more proprietorial now that she was no longer engaged and wanting to keep her with him.

Christine seemed to look straight at him through the darkened glass, a challenge in her expression, and slapped the contract back down on the keyboard. "A demain," she called over her shoulder.

Erik shook his head in amusement, glad that the session - and being given a contract - had raised her spirits. Get a grip on yourself, old man. You've got too much to do to moon after a woman who will never yours.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

The most important item on Erik's agenda after Christine left was to return the phone call from his brother Micheil that had come in while he was working with Christine. He dialed Micheil's secure line and waited.

"It's me," he said cryptically when Micheil answered. He had become more paranoid than ever at giving his name over a phone line, even a secure one.

"I've got some information for you from my man who has just returned from Moscow. The word in the underground is that Volchok's power has been slipping and a son-in-law is trying to topple him and take over his empire."

"I hope he murders the old bastard," Erik growled.

"Maybe. But here's where Volchok's connection to you comes into it. We've heard that he's coming after you as a way to impress the organization and to reestablish his legitimacy. My guess is he either wants your head on a silver platter for revenge or else he'll try to extort a huge sum of money from you."

"Have you been able to find out how much he knows?" Erik asked.

"He's still a long way from having enough information to act. We know he's run fairly deep investigations into a couple of your aliases, but he's run into dead ends. I further complicated matters for him by making sure all of the official documents were in place for the "deaths" of your aliases that were the next links in the chain." Micheil went on. "By the way, Carlos Ruiz of Argentina, Frank Strobel of Munich and Felix Zaideh of Istanbul are all officially dead and have been taken out of play."

"I haven't used any of those aliases in years anyway," Erik said. "Is there anything else?"

"No, that's about it for now. Except - I did see that your little song bird has returned to you."

"She's not my song bird..." Erik stopped when he heard Micheil laugh, realizing that he had taken his brother's bait. "Keep me informed if anything develops."

"That's what you pay me for, little brother."

While Volchok and his minions certainly weren't a threat to him yet, Erik realized that his past would never leave him in peace. He hated the thought of dumping the identity of Erik Remondet after ten successful years with it and starting over again for many reasons, not the least of which was Christine, whom he did think of as his little song bird, despite having just denied it to his brother.


	13. Ch 12 Expanded Edge

**Chapter 12**

**Expanded Edge**

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

Christine had spent a rough night, overwhelmed by her grief. She had literally forced herself to stop crying, knowing that it would adversely affect her singing in the morning, and she didn't want to make Erik angry, especially when he had given her the second opportunity when most producers wouldn't have. When she arrived at the studio, she was stunned to find several new songs on the music stand and as she looked over them, hearing them in her mind, Christine knew instinctively that they had been composed for her voice. She was more impressed than ever with Erik's composing abilities when she realized the scope and variety of the music coupled with the sheer volume of songs.

"Pick one, Christine, any one you'd like," he said over the speaker, startling her. "After you warm up, you can start learning some new material for a CD and to use on tour. We might as well kill two birds with one stone while we work on your voice."

"What about my music?"

"The songs that can be rearranged to fit this genre, we'll use. And I have something else in mind for the others that I think you'll approve of," he promised. "One thing at a time though; we'll talk about that later."

They had been working on the new song for a couple of hours when Erik finally stopped her. After watching her and listening to her, he could tell something was wrong. While she was doing her best to stay focused on the music, and she was following his instructions fairly well, all of the life and sparkle was missing, making his music sound flat and monotonous. Damn that boy for doing this to her. He tried valiantly to curb his irritation, remembering what she had been through, but he was not a patient man.

"What is the problem, Christine?" He realized he had practically snarled at her and tried to soften his tone. "Your heart hasn't been in it this morning."

"Have you ever watched someone die, Erik?" Christine asked him, apropos of nothing.

"I regret to say that I have." he replied truthfully, after considering how much to divulge to her.

"Well, then you know that it is a cruel and ugly thing."

"I can think of a far uglier thing than death."

"What? What can possibly be worse than dying?" Christine asked, astounded by Erik's answer.

"To have to go through life as a living dead thing," he responded, recalling the time when he had let himself be displayed as a corpse.

It hit her then. She realized he was talking about his own life, about why he kept himself hidden from view. Still, in the light of Raoul's suffering and death, Christine was infuriated by Erik's childish bid for pity. "I don't want to hear it, Erik. You have no right to complain - I don't care what you're hiding under that mask. At least you have a life, and a pretty damn good one at that. And what you do, or don't do with it is entirely up to you. If you want to waste it by hiding away from the world feeling sorry for yourself, then that's up to you." She stopped, her breath coming in short, hard bursts of anger.

Christine regretted her outburst almost immediately. The morning had gone fairly smoothly and she hadn't meant to get into an argument with him - especially bringing up his mask - on this of all days. Christine looked up in surprise when she heard the door of the control room open, waiting for the explosion that was sure to come.

But Erik only leaned against the doorway, looking tired and defeated. He stood there with his eyes closed, while the silence broadened like a desert between them. Why it felt worse for her to have brought this out into the open, he couldn't have said. And being cursed with self-awareness, Erik had to concede to himself that Christine could possibly be right. He skirted away from the dangerous subject though, and simply asked, "Would you prefer it then if I accompanied you from out here?"

Christine stared at him, shocked that this was his only response to her tirade. She would never figure this man out. "Yes. I would like that very much, Erik."

The violin sounded so much sweeter to her ears when it was right beside her rather than coming through the speakers from the control room.

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

After that day, Erik continued to work along side of Christine in the studio unless they were working on her songs, in which case she accompanied herself on the keyboard. Erik was impressed with how quickly Christine learned the music he had written for her. They worked on the new material as well as rearranging Christine's compositions for the next two weeks, until Erik had no more excuses to keep her to himself and had to admit that she was ready to begin working with a full band. On their final day of working together, Christine felt as if she were losing the greatest mentor she would ever have.

"Tomorrow Mr. Riggs will take over the sessions, Christine. You will also be meeting your new band," Erik told her.

Christine nodded, disappointed and excited at the same time. "Will I be able to visit you again?" She asked.

There was an extended silence, then he cleared his throat slightly. "You wish to come here after your career begins?" he inquired, his tone neutral.

"Well, I may need some assistance," Christine replied.

"I am sure Mr. Riggs will provide you with everything that you need."

"Oh. Of course he will."

"But you are always welcome here," Erik added quickly. "It is not an offer I extend to just anyone."

Christine graced him with the sunniest of smiles, and Erik felt his heart warm. During their sessions he had still recorded every moment, knowing it would be the only thing he would have of her once she was gone. But now she gave him hope for something more, and he was terrified to even think of it. People like him, as if there were anyone else, did not find happiness and normalcy with lovely, innocent blond sopranos. Had he been thinking clearly, he would never have offered that courtesy to her. It was the truth, what he'd told her. It was not an offer he extended to just anyone, to anyone at all to be precise.

But somewhere between utter self loathing and desperate hope lay his true feelings, and he knew when she smiled at him why he was in love with her.

"Maybe I'll come back when I'm rich and famous, and you can tell me what I've been doing wrong the last ten years." Christine chided him.

And just like that, his hope deflated. Before he could stop himself, he uttered foolish words. "I hope you would not wait so long, Christine."

"I won't," Christine promised him. "Perhaps I will need someone to push me again in the near future. So that...."

"I will always be here," Erik replied gently, hoping for some measure of affection, or to give her at least one good memory of himself. Then maybe she would return, even if only for inspiration and encouragement. "If ever you should need me."

"I won't forget it, Erik."

"See that you don't," he admonished softly.

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

Christine had to give the executives at Shadow credit for pulling strings – literally. In addition to the keyboard player, and a bassist, drummer, and lead guitarist, they'd been able to sign a string ensemble to her group, officially named Expanded Edge. For certain songs they were even searching for a full orchestra accompaniment, only for recordings and at special concerts.

Her first session at Shadow's headquarters was mostly to meet her new group, the majority of whom were women, which surprised her. The drummer and lead guitarist were the only males in the group, both of them slightly older guys that reminded her a bit of her free spirited father. By the second week they had gotten into a rhythm of rehearsing, and had one song, designated to be released as their first single, almost perfected. Christine found it difficult working with new people, and she felt the pressure of it more and more every day. The pain of Raoul's death still lingered, and she found she missed Erik's direction, his creativity and his genius.

Erik too missed working with Christine, and on the pretext of showing her some video of the band, he had called her back to the studio in his home. Christine leaned forward and peered at the screen he had turned on for her, and for a long moment Erik closed his eyes and inhaled her sweet scent.

When Erik opened his eyes she was still watching the screen, looking at her own image and those of her band mates.

"What am I looking for?" she asked.

Inhaling one last regretful time, Erik pointed at the lead guitarist. "He does not seem to fit in very well. I wanted to know if you are happy with the choices that were made."

"Kevin? I think he's a great guitarist. A little rough around the edges, but aren't they all supposed to be?"

"You do not mind that he is - older?" Erik questioned. Or male? He'd tried so very hard to compose the group of females, but Riggs had warned him against it. A female group would not have as broad of an appeal as a mixed one. Of course, placing a beautiful young thing like Christine amidst a group of males would also have been unwise. He'd settled for two older guys, hoping to have some balance to the group. No one was irreplaceable, except her.

"Not at all." Christine smiled slightly, and Erik wondered what that smile meant.

"I would like to see more uniformity. It's important that your band should reflect the style of music you'll be singing." Christine's eyes shifted to his questioningly, before returning to the screen.

"What do you mean? Like matching outfits?"

"Something like that," Erik agreed. "I will see that Riggs sets your main front men up with a stylist of some sort." Erik frowned at the image of Kevin and his too long hair. He looked more like a member of Aerosmith than he did a chic chick rock group. "You should see one as well."

Her lips pursed just a little, but she didn't comment. Instead she backed away from the monitor and smiled up at him. "Thank you for all your help. I'm glad I got to see you today, but I really should be going. I've got a friend staying with me who just flew in from Seattle. Natalia."

"Ah. Then I won't keep you a moment longer. You have tomorrow off, don't you?"

"Yes, but Natalia wants to meet everyone in the band, so we're all going to go out for dinner."

Dinner among adults, in a public place no less. He tried to withhold the wistfulness from his eyes, but knew he had failed when Christine's expression turned soft with worry. But she wouldn't ask. Even he knew she would not dare to embarrass him with the offer. The mask had but momentarily slipped – and not the one which covered his face. He could not afford to be so blatant, but she intoxicated him with the very goodness of her nature.

He had to think of a way to keep her near. To make her come back again and again. Now that she'd broken down that barrier of mysterious teacher and mentor, he wanted more moments where he could be close to her, just simply talking. She made him feel, and it was that alone, feeling, which should have terrified him but did not. Christine was such a good and gentle girl. Unlike himself. She made him want so many things that weren't possible. Something that had started out as a curiosity, a project had become something so much more. Just a bit too much obsession if he were honest with himself, but maybe a thing like himself was capable of feeling love as well.

But how could he arrange for her to return? Certainly not by asking her to dinner, awkward affairs where he had to work around the mask or sit and make polite conversation, neither of which he was good at. The only thing that he could think of was music, but she didn't really need him vocally, and every day she gained a little more confidence in herself.

"Unless...," a silly, mad voice whispered in his mind. "Unless you undermine that confidence, and keep her dependent upon you."

It seemed absurd, yet he knew he could make it work so well.

As Christine said her goodbyes, the voice whispered again, telling him exactly what he would need to do to keep his new starlet close.

**Ж Ж Ж Ж Ж**

"Erik, this is insane. Even for you, it's wrong," Riggs complained, rising from his chair in an unusual fit of worry. "You said you would never hire Melvin Peaks again. I believe the term you used was "obsessive, nit picking gust of flatulence".

"I did?" Erik asked innocently. "Must have been having a bad day. He's a good manager."

"Yes, for someone seasoned. Christine isn't. He'll tear her apart, and the rest of the band as well."

"I want Peaks for this," Erik insisted, leveling his eyes to his employee in a way that meant further comments would be insubordination. "He's the best at marketing new talent. He'll groom her for the stage, and the rest of them will fall into place as well."

"Fine." Riggs capitulated, glancing away from that penetrating, unwavering stare. "You know he's going to cost us a small fortune after the way I fired him last time."

"So pay it. He's worth the price."

"Will you at least tell me why I'm doing this?"

Erik just looked at him. "Because I'm telling you to, and you work for me. Remember?"

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Riggs muttered, "when your new sensation becomes a quivering, crying female and comes begging for you to fire him."

Riggs didn't catch Erik's smile as he turned away, but Erik was almost beaming. Ah yes, that was the plan. That was precisely the same thing the last singer had done whom Peaks had managed. She hadn't come to him, of course, but straight to Riggs with her complaints. And after seeing the man at work, Erik had to agree. Melvin Peaks was dictatorial, an anal retentive controller who excelled at fixing problems because no one could bear the price of denying him anything - down to his daily half caf low fat soy macchiato. So when his need to control collided with Christine's need to be independent, she might not say anything at first, but Erik would know. And when she complained, he would be there.

"Have you finalized the contracts for the rest of the group yet?" Erik asked, changing the subject and closing the previous one permanently. "I haven't had a chance to review the background checks you ordered. Any surprises?"

"Just the usual priors. Unpaid parking tickets, money judgments, and drugs."

Erik leaned back in his chair a bit, not surprised in the least. Drug abuse seemed to be a requirement for most good musicians, himself included. Though he'd managed to put that part of his past behind him, the pull of narcotics was strong, and quitting them by himself had been even more difficult. "Which ones?"

"One of the violinists was convicted of marijuana possession when she was younger, so was the drummer. The biggest user was Kevin, the guitarist. He spent time in jail, and even more in rehab. I tested him though, and he says that he has been clean for five years. The test was able to confirm he's been clean at least six months."

"Fine, just keep me informed. Give them all a follow up in three months, and make sure they understand the consequences of using while with my label. I don't want any of that around Christine."

Riggs nodded then tossed a folder onto the desk in front of Erik. "I need your approval on royalty percentages. Since you did most of the rearrangements, I'll assume you'll be keeping the majority of the share?"

"No."

His president looked startled for a moment. "Erik, if the group makes as much money as we think they will, you'll be regretting that decision."

"Put it back into the band, but the composing profits go to Christine. Those were her lyrics and music. I just tweaked them. Performance royalties go to the band. Promotional and recording they can split with the company since we'll be taking the risk for the first few months. Before the first live show, which is in a month, I want Night Rainbow released over the Internet and satellite radio. Do you have the venue arrangements satisfied for the first performance?"

"They're scheduled at The Sound Academy here in Toronto, per your request," Riggs replied. "They'll play several of the college and university towns throughout the Northeastern United States and then they're set for a return to Toronto in the late summer to perform in the musical festival at the Molson Amphitheater if all goes well."

Riggs started to give Erik the rest of the tour dates into the Fall, but Erik was already rising from his chair, indicating that he was finished with their meeting, and Riggs had his own dinner reservations at the Senses with a beauty from their advertising agency.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

"One more time from the top," Melvin intoned through the studio. "Could you try to stay together, people? I have better things to do than listen to a rag tag group of alley cats caterwauling about lost love. And Christine, if you could look a little more depressed, it might make me believe you're actually going to slit your wrists, or whatever the hell those lyrics mean. We can use that."

Christine glared at him, and behind her Brooke, the keyboardist, used some choice, unflattering names for him, but they started over. For the last two weeks they had endured insults, temper tantrums, and outright rudeness from their new "manager", Melvin Peaks. Even Mr. Riggs could not tolerate him and vacated the studio when he was around. When Christine had tried to talk to Riggs about the situation, she ran into a brick wall. Apparently Erik had hand selected the man for the position, and his choices were never to be questioned. Although there had been some improvement in the sound, there was a sharp decline in their moods. The "rag tag" group that Erik had created was great fun to work with, and amazingly, to Christine at least, they all seemed to really like their lead singer, but with Melvin's negative attitude thrust into their newly burgeoning relationships, the after rehearsal dinners had ceased and both of the violinists had threatened to quit.

As much as she would have liked to report his behavior to Erik, Christine hesitated. On his worst day Melvin was not half as demanding as Erik, and though she loathed to admit it, he had a way of verbally berating them into submission. The drummer, Patrick Ryan, was no longer an hour late every morning for their sessions, Kevin's angry guitar riffs were exactly what was needed for the occasional solo, and they were so busy hating Melvin that it was hard to dislike each other.

"Enough!" Melvin suddenly barked, then wrenched the door open. The familiar irritated expression on his face spoke volumes. "What the hell was that? You sound like a bunch of monkeys given state of the art instruments!"

Kevin leaned toward her a bit as Melvin continued his tirade. "I know why he's so pissed all the time," he whispered conspiratorially. "It's because he actually resembles a monkey."

Christine grinned up at him. "Does he smell like one too?"

"Hundred bucks if you go up and sniff him."

Unable to help it, she laughed, earning a sharp look from their new manager.

"If this is all some big game to you, Miss Davis, then I can see why Remondet hired me. He expects you to fail, otherwise he wouldn't have needed someone with my degree of discipline. If that's all this means to you, perhaps you should cancel the contract now, and save the company a few million dollars."

"Hey pal, why don't you lay off?" Kevin asked lazily. "We're the ones busting our asses. We can't help it if it isn't up to your standards."

Melvin took a step toward him, barely coming up to the other man's chest. "Maybe if you had busted it a little harder when you were in Light Ray, the band wouldn't have broken up. Oh wait...," Melvin narrowed his eyes. "It wasn't because you couldn't play, was it? No, I think it was something else."

Kevin lifted his chin. "That's right, Peaks. I had a problem with coke, but that was a long time ago, and everyone here knows it."

"Coke, smack, booze," Melvin added salaciously. "Whatever you could snort, inject, inhale, or swallow."

Christine jumped between them as Kevin raised his fist in a threatening gesture, but she didn't need to. Melvin backed down immediately, gave them all a spectacular scowl, then slammed out of the studio. The expression on Kevin's face was thunderous, as he scoffed loudly and tossed his guitar onto the sofa where it landed with a loud thrum.

"I don't need this shit. Tell Riggs either Peaks goes, or he can find himself a new guitarist."

"Come on man. Don't let him get to you." Brooke said. "He's gone now. Let's just play."

Kevin glanced to Christine, and she nodded quickly, stepping back to the microphone. "You're a part of this group now, Kev. We need you here. And we don't care about what you did in the past. It's who you are now that matters."

Kevin lifted his guitar and let his fingers pick out several loud, aggressive chords. "Alright then. Turn us on, Chris."

And she did.

In the hidden passage behind the wall, listening with a keen ear, a ghost would only remember one haunting line, "It's who you are now that matters", and wonder if the same applied to himself.


	14. Chapter 13 On Tour

Chapter 13

On Tour

Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

Christine rang the buzzer and waited nervously for Erik to admit her to his office at Shadow's headquarters. This was her first visit to his office there, and she found that she was even more nervous at seeing him than usual. She'd become almost comfortable working with him in the studio at his home, but he'd ask her to come up here after the group's rehearsal that day. Erik buzzed her in and Christine found herself in a beautifully appointed reception area, although it had neither desk nor receptionist. She hesitated, unsure of what to do, when Erik appeared in the doorway leading to his inner sanctum.

"Good afternoon, Christine. I trust rehearsal went well?" He greeted her.

Christine had worked with Erik for long enough now that his appearance no longer surprised her. The mask was definitely still intimidating, but his eyes, which had so frightened her the day she had given him the video tape, were merely a very light golden brown under most circumstances.

"Hello, Erik." Christine smiled up at him, the warmth genuine. "Rehearsals are going great now. We've really come together as a group, and you've hired some amazing musicians to back me up."

"I'm glad, that was my intention, Christine. Come in to my office; I want to talk to you about your new single."

Christine entered his office and took a seat where Erik indicated, taking in her surroundings - an eclectic mix of furnishings, leaning toward modern, a long teak wood table that he evidently used as a desk, and a gas fireplace surrounded by gleaming black marble.

"Originally the plan was to release Indigo Morning as the group's first single," Erik began, "but after listening to some of the other tracks on the CD, I'm thinking Night Rainbow might be a better choice. It doesn't showcase your voice as well, Christine, but it is a little more accessible for a mainstream market. I think it could be the hit we're looking for to launch the group." Erik watched Christine's reaction as she thought about her choice. He knew Indigo Morning had special meaning for her, whereas he had had more input in the writing of Night Rainbow.

"You're probably right, Erik," she conceded. "I know which song I prefer, but not necessarily which one would be more commercial." He saw a twinkle come into her china blue eyes as she continued. "I'll bow to your superior judgment on this."

Erik could tell she was teasing him, something no one ever dared to do, and he actually enjoyed it. "Always a wise decision, Miss Davis. We'll save Indigo Morning for the follow up single then. Within the next two weeks, we'll release Night Rainbow in stores and on-line as a single, with a big marketing push to gain air play. We'll follow this with the release of the CD. Melvin Peaks tells me that it needs only a couple more tracks and then mixing before it is ready. The tour dates are set except for a few toward the end, which haven't been set in stone yet, and the other live performances have been booked. Our publicity department is also arranging TV and radio interviews and spots." Erik paused, noticing that Christine looked a little overwhelmed. "Do you have a problem with any of this, Christine? Anything you'd like to ask me?"

"No, no problems. This all sounds wonderful. Unbelievable, but wonderful! I just hope I won't let you down. You've done so much for me, Erik and I'm truly grateful." Christine told him sincerely.

"Christine, please believe me when I tell you how much it has meant to me to work with you." And what ever was he going to do once she was gone, he wondered. "Now. I have a little gift for you since you'll be leaving soon to go out on tour." He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a small box, wrapped simply in silver paper with a royal blue bow, and handed it to her.

Surprised, Christine took it from him wordlessly, not trusting herself to speak. She was already missing her producer and vocal coach turned friend, and with Raoul's death, her emotions were running dangerously near the surface.

Typical of Erik, or at least what Christine knew of Erik, the gift wasn't anything personal or extravagantly expensive. Rather, he had given her a new iPod.

"I've put some selections on it that are special to me. I hope you enjoy them as well. Now let me see your cell phone," he demanded. She found it and handed it to him, waiting while he punched in a number. "There," he said handing it back to her. "You have my private number. I can count on one hand the number of people who have it. Don't hesitate to use it, Christine."

Christine reached over and took Erik's hand between her own and thanked him again for all he had done for her. Of course Erik didn't hear a word she said after she touched him.

Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

Their first gig at The Sound Academy in Toronto, on a warm summer evening, was for the most part, a success. Although the crowd didn't cheer quite as loudly for them as it did for the main act, for Christine and most of the other members in the band, it was a dream come true. Kevin had moved around from band to band for the last twelve years. Brooke Sutherland was a wonderful lyricist and keyboardist, but because her boyfriend had been the lead singer of her last group – and because he'd slept with two of the backup singers, at the same time, she'd decided to move on. Their Irish drummer, Patrick Ryan, had been led to them by Kevin, and he and Kevin had actually performed together before. Jennifer Rawlings played a moody bass, and was nearly as good on the guitar as Kevin. The group was completed by two violinists, Stacy Montgomery and Lindsey Farrar, and a beautiful cellist from the Netherlands called simply, Zoe. Other than Melvin Peaks and his incessant criticizing and nagging over everything from the style of Christine's newly made wardrobe to their movements on the stage, it was one of the best times she had ever had.

Tonight's venue was the much larger Shea's Performing Arts Center in Buffalo, New York, and Christine felt dwarfed on the larger stage. They were opening for a bigger band than they had in Toronto, and the crowd was revved up and enthusiastic as Patrick counted out the beat for Night Rainbow. Christine stole a quick glance over at Kevin and then back to Brooke, all of them grinning widely at the crowd's acknowledgement, before she broke into the opening lyrics of the song.

The band was more in synch tonight than they had been for their first performance. They were playing well and with passion, and were buoyed up by the crowd's response. Toward the end of their final set, they played one of Christine's favorites, Indigo Morning, and she put her whole heart into it, lost in the beautiful music and lyrics of the song. She had just taken a step back into the shadows as the spotlight focused on Zoe for the instrumental interlude of the song, when she heard Erik in her in-ear monitor.

"Use your breath to support your voice, Christine." He ordered. "You'll hurt your voice by shouting the lyrics. You know better than that."

Christine was so shocked that she almost said his name out loud. Even knowing it was futile as she did so, she couldn't stop herself from looking around to see if she could spot him. Was he actually here? Where? But how else would he know how she was singing. Just then she heard him again in her ear.

"Of course I'm watching. Sing for me, Christine - as I've taught you."

When she noticed Jennifer looking at her strangely, Christine was afraid that she'd missed her entrance, but luckily she managed to come in just at the right to finish the song.

Expanded Edge finished their set to a loud ovation of cheering and applause, the dark arena awash with lime colored light sticks. Christine and the rest of the band were flushed with the success of the night. All of them were beginning to believe that success might really be in their grasp.

Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

Jennifer took a seat by Christine in the hotel's bar where they had all gone for some food and a nightcap to celebrate. "What in the world happened to you back there. You looked like you saw a ghost."

Christine laughed, thinking how close to the mark Jennifer's guess actually was. "I almost thought the same thing. But it was just some strange feedback in my monitor. It took me by surprise, that's all. I hope the audience couldn't see me acting like an idiot."

"Don't worry, I doubt they did; the spot wasn't on you." Jennifer lowered her voice and added, "But I'm sure you'll hear something about it from Melvin in the morning."

Christine groaned. "Ugh! I'm sure you're right. He doesn't miss anything. Especially if it involves something he can get on me about."

Their conversation was cut short as Kevin and Patrick sauntered in to join the women, and the waitress arrived to take their drink orders. As soon as everyone had a drink in front of them, Kevin raised his glass in a toast, "To our very beautiful and very talented lead singer. May she lead us all into the promised land of platinum records."

"I'll drink to that!" Patrick shouted in agreement. "And here's to being as popular as the Rolling Stones."

"Rolling Stones?" Laughed Brooke. "Now you're really showing your age, old man. Those guys are older than my parents! Try someone more current like Kings of Leon."

"Well, I'd like to propose a toast," Christine interrupted. "Here's to the best band, and group of friends, I could ever have wished for. To Expanded Edge!"

"Expanded Edge!" They all echoed in unison, touching glasses over the center of the table.

Christine and the band continued to talk and joke with each other while they ate, only going to their rooms when the adrenalin rush of the evening finally started to fade.

Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

Christine couldn't wait to get to the privacy of her room to call Erik. She hadn't had the nerve to use his private number yet, but after he had about scared her to death on stage, he was definitely going to hear from her.

She made short work of washing off her makeup and changing out of her clothes. Once settled on the king sized bed, she dialed Erik's private number. Her heart raced as she waited for Erik to answer. "Erik? It's Christine. I hope I haven't bothered you."

"No Christine, you haven't bothered me. I gave you this number, remember?" He waited, as nervous as she was, although he couldn't know that. He was thrilled that she had finally called him, but now that she had, he was at loss as to how to proceed. He could tell from the GPS reading on his computer that she - and the phone containing it - were at the hotel in Buffalo. And it suddenly felt very intimate to be talking to her at that hour of the morning while she was in a bedroom.

"If you're sure I'm not bothering you, or keeping you up..."

"I don't sleep, Christine." He interrupted. "What can I do for you?"

"Erik, where are you? Are you here?" Christine demanded as she remembered the scare he had given her on stage.

"Not anymore. I'm back in Toronto."

"But you were at the concert tonight, right? I didn't just imagine your voice in my ear?"

"Of course I was there. You didn't think I'd send you out on your own without checking on you, did you?"

The conversation was beginning to offend her. If he hadn't thought she was ready to perform, why had he sent her out on tour? "Why couldn't you have just called me to discuss my performance? You nearly gave me a heart attack - while I was singing!"

"Ah, but you weren't singing, were you, Christine? Zoe was playing. And that is my point. You were shrieking over the music and the crowd and not using your diaphragm. I'll not have you ruining your voice before your career even takes off." Erik could feel his temper rising. Why was the little fool attempting to argue with him? She was his protege and he certainly knew what was best for her.

While Erik was probably right, Christine knew that she'd never admit it. She was still annoyed that he had hidden himself and spied on her. Why couldn't he have just come backstage like a normal person, or called her after the concert? Ahh, she thought. There was the answer. Erik was not a normal person!

"Erik, please. Next time just call me, or meet me, and tell me what I'm doing wrong. Please. It's bad enough that I've got..." Christine had started to say, 'bad enough that I've got Peaks criticizing me incessantly', but she caught herself. She had no intention of complaining about anything to Erik. Not when he had done so much for her and the band.

"What's 'bad enough' Christine? Tell me. " He commanded. Of course he had caught her slip, and he knew perfectly well what she was going to say. This was just the opening he had been waiting for.

"Nothing, Erik. Everything's great. Really it is. I'm just tired."

There was a long silence on his end, before he finally spoke. "All right, Christine. Get some rest. But remember my instructions."

"I will; I promise." Christine finally capitulated. "Good night, Erik."

"Sweet dreams, Christine." He disconnected then, but not without thinking that he had to admire her spirit. Riggs had been right - Melvin Peaks was a major pain in the ass, and he could drip on a singer's mind like water on stone.

Christine lay against the pillows, poised on the threshold of sleep. She let her mind wander, and as she did every night, she thought about Raoul, picturing his blue eyes. And sometimes in the dark of night, she also thought of golden eyes filled with sadness.

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Expanded Edge had played Toronto, Buffalo, Rochester, Syracuse and Albany before working its way through the New England states. The band practiced whenever it could, sometimes working on new numbers on the tour bus. The new CD was out in stores and their single, Night Rainbow was getting air time across Canada and the United States. Christine's confidence took two steps forward on stage, but then retreated a step when assaulted by her manager's negative attitude. The group finally had a few days off so Erik had sent his private jet for her, and Christine was looking forward to working with him. They had spoken a few times on the phone, briefly, and each time Christine discovered another interesting quality hidden beneath the acerbic exterior he presented to the world.

Christine was therefore disappointed when he wasn't in the studio but in the control room when she arrived. Erik noticed her expectant look and subsequent letdown, but found it hard to believe that it could have anything to do with him. He was pleased with the newfound air of confidence that Christine projected as she entered the studio.

"Hello, my dear. You look lovely today," he told her.

"Thank you Erik. But why aren't you out here where I can see you?" She questioned playfully. She thought she heard something almost akin to a snort in response.

"I'm afraid it would not be nearly so pleasant for you as it is for me. But don't worry, you shall suffer that fate soon enough. I need to be at the controls for a while though," he said with his usual self-deprecation. "I've prepared an exercise to help you with your voice projection on stage. We'll use Indigo Morning as practice."

Christine moved to the keyboard, and played the opening bars of the song. Just as she prepared to open her mouth to sing, the room was filled with the roar of a cheering, screaming crowd. She stopped playing, completely taken by surprise by the deafening sound. "Erik." She shouted into her microphone over the noise. "Turn that down! You're hurting my ears!"

She was relieved when the noise stopped. But with exaggerated patience, he told her, "Christine, that is the point of this exercise. You must learn to project your voice over the noise in large arenas without straining it. Now try it again."

He turned the crowd noise on again, and Christine began to sing over it. She hadn't even gotten to the chorus, when he stopped her. "Have you forgotten everything I've taught you?" he demanded. "Stand up straighter. Push the sound up from deep within using your diaphragm. Do it again."

Again, and again, and again. She had been singing for almost an hour and hadn't even progressed to the bridge of the song. Erik criticized everything she did. She wasn't projecting. And if she was, her pitch was off. Or she wasn't using her breath control to hold the note.

"Enough!" Christine finally called to him, already worn out even though it was only mid-morning.

Erik suppressed his exasperation. He wasn't angry with Christine; he was simply a perfectionist and she was so close to being perfect. He started the sounds again, and left the control booth.

"Bring the sound up from here," he directed her, placing one hand gingerly on her abdomen. He put his other hand on the small of her back to help support her. "Now, sing."

Christine did as Erik instructed, concentrating on the pressure of his hand on her abdomen and trying to push the volume from that point. Finally after several more attempts, Erik was satisfied and let her stop.

"Do you think you can replicate that in concert?" He asked her.

Christine laughed ruefully. "I'd better, or you'll stop the concert and make me sing the song again and again. I don't think that's what's meant by 'an encore'," she joked.

Erik smiled and shook his head. "I'm not that bad, am I? No! Don't answer that," he returned. He stood there for a moment, feeling awkward at the proximity to Christine but loathe to move away. He was relieved when Teo interrupted to announce that he had made them lunch and it was waiting in the dining room. She continued to amuse him throughout the meal with stories of the band, the road and the old fuss budget Marvin, as she called him.

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Christine flew out the next morning to catch up with the band in Baltimore, the next stop on their tour. She was as blown away as the rest of Expanded Edge at the tremendous reception they received in Baltimore. Their single, Night Rainbow, continued to do well, and as it rose on the charts, so did the number of fans.

The band had just stopped for an intermission, the crowd's cheering and applause still audible as the group made their way back to the dressing rooms.

"You're sounding better than ever, Chrissie." Kevin said as he shot her a high five. Kevin was always the sweetest and the most complimentary to her.

"Thanks, Kevin. I needed to hear it. I worked pretty hard on my days off. Erik took Melvin's spot at criticizing me. I couldn't do anything right!" She laughed ruefully. Christine didn't mind telling Kevin about her work sessions with Erik, but none of the rest of the band knew of her relationship with Shadow's owner.

Kevin frowned at Christine's admission. He had become very protective of her, and now thought of her as his little sister.

"He got over it in the end, and as you can tell, he did help me with my projection." Christine quickly assured him. She unlocked the door to the dressing room, calling over her shoulder to Kevin as she went in, "See you back on stage in twenty!"

Expanded Edge finished the concert strongly, inspired by how well they had performed in the first half and encouraged by the roar of the enthusiastic crowd. Christine couldn't wait to to call Erik to tell him about it. She said a quick good night to the band, pleading fatigue, and rushed back to her room.

"Erik? Were you at the concert tonight?" She asked excitedly before he could get a word out.

He chuckled, extremely glad that she had called him and amused that she seemed to think he was some sort of super hero who could appear anywhere on the globe at will. "No, I missed it I'm afraid. I take it you were a rousing success?"

"I think it was our best concert yet, and even Kevin commented on how good I sounded. So thank you for all of your help."

Erik frowned at the mention of the guitar player, resentful that Christine was with him on a regular basis. "You're welcome. And isn't that my job as your producer?"

Christine wished that he wouldn't think of himself solely as her producer. She had long since thought of him as her friend. "You know you're more than just my producer, Erik. I wouldn't be where I am now without you."

It never failed to surprise him whenever Christine alluded to the fact that they had a relationship. "I believe this is the second time you've had to remind me of that fact. I will try not to forget it again."

Christine smiled at his mock seriousness. "I've listened to the music you put on my iPod; it was so beautiful I didn't want it to ever end. That was you singing wasn't it?"

There was a part of him that now regretted showing her so much of himself. But it was too late to change it. "Yes, it was."

"Erik, why aren't you still performing? You're the best singer I've ever heard."

"You know why, Christine," he answered tersely.

"The lead singer in Tool is never seen," she argued. "He performs at the back of the stage in silhouette. Couldn't you do something like that?"

"Drop it, Christine." She was in very dangerous territory, and she should have known better, Erik thought.

Christine did realize it, and quickly backed off. "All right. Sorry, Erik. But promise you'll keep singing for me."

"Always," he promised.


	15. Ch 14 Variety is the Spice of Life

**Chapter 14**

**Variety is the Spice of Life**

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Shay Williams stuck her head inside Geoffrey Riggs's door. "He wants to see you immediately. Upstairs."

Instinctively, Geoffrey glanced at his day planner, seeing no notation for Erik Remondet. "He's here? I thought he was out of the country. What's he doing in the office? Did you know he was back?" In his shock, Geoffrey fired off several questions at Shay, his talented and smart administrative assistant, who was literally Geoffrey's right hand. She was also as good looking as she was smart, an African American beauty, with a bit of Asian heritage thrown in that accounted for her exotic appeal. Geoffrey had never asked her out as he adhered to a strict code of never dating within the company. He knew that he wouldn't have been nearly as successful at running Shadow as he was without Shay and the staff under her.

"Did you just see his name on your calendar?" She asked facetiously, a single eyebrow raised. "If I had known, you would have known. Me and the Weather Channel, we get paid to warn people before hurricanes make landfall." Shay gave Geoffrey a sympathetic smile and turned and left his office.

The high speed elevator to Erik's top floor office suite didn't give Geoffrey much time to ponder the nature of Erik's summons, although he had a sinking feeling that it might have something to do with the picture of Shadow's newest star, Christine Davis, featured prominently in a lip lock on the front page of this morning's edition of Variety. He hoped not; Erik's obsession with one of their artists and the whole handling of the Davis contract had been extraordinary for Erik, and it made Geoffrey uneasy.

Geoffrey rang the buzzer for admittance to the suite – Erik allowed no staff on this floor – and was buzzed in. Immediately, he swore he could feel the same heavy stillness in the air that usually preceded a storm. He walked through the outer sitting room and into Erik's seldom used office. While he couldn't see Erik's face, Geoffrey could see the murderous look in Erik's eyes, and as he had dreaded, Erik was holding a rolled up copy of Variety.

"I ought to fire you right now for not reporting this to me." Erik's voice was steely and quiet.

"Erik, I just saw it myself; it's only a picture. I didn't think it was a big enough deal to bother..."

"EVERYTHING that concerns my company or my performers is a "big deal"", Erik roared, slamming the paper down on his desk. "How long has this been going on?"

"Nothing is going on, Erik. You know we routinely keep tabs on all of our stars, and there hasn't been anything reported back about Christine and this guy, what's his name, Kevin Vaughn. In fact, she never goes out at all. I'm sure that's why the media ran with this and made a big deal out of it."

"I want him fired. Immediately." Erik ordered.

"Erik, he's got a contract, we can't just...."

"Do it NOW, Geoffrey, and NEVER contradict me again."

Geoffrey was fighting to hold onto his own temper, knowing that it would do no good to try to talk sense to Erik when he was like this. He'd try to get a little more background on the picture himself, and give Erik time to cool off . "On what grounds do you propose we break his contract?"

"Isn't being charged with a felony grounds for us to void a contract?"

"Yes, but Vaughn hasn't...."

"Do I have to spell it out for you, you damn moron?" Again Erik's voice had increased several decibels, and Geoffrey was glad that there was no one else on the floor to hear them. "Plant heroin or cocaine on him, and then use our contacts to have him arrested and charged. Do it, Geoffrey, and make sure that bastard never works in this industry again. Now leave me."

Geoffrey opened his mouth to try to reason with Erik, but one look at the crazed look in his eyes, and Geoffrey decided against it. It was business suicide to fire such a talented lead guitar player when the chemistry of the group had meshed so well. Record sales were continually increasing and each concert was drawing bigger and bigger crowds. Not to mention the negative backlash that would occur if Vaughn somehow managed to prove his innocence.

Over the years, Geoffrey had been placed in many difficult situations because of Erik, and had had to do a lot of dirty work. But this was close to some of the worst. Geoffrey only hoped that Erik's obsession with Christine Davis abated before too many more people got hurt.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Erik paced his office for several minutes after Geoffrey departed, furious at his inability to control either the situation with Christine or his feelings for her. He knew he needed to turn his attention to something else, needed to accomplish something productive before he did something rash. Coming to a decision, he picked up the phone.

"Talk to me, Micheil," he said when the call was answered. "You know I get nervous when I don't hear from you. Any news on Sayed?"

"Hello, Erik." His brother Micheil replied, with only the faintest hint of sarcasm in his voice. "No, nothing. And I've had some of my best people looking. The trail is cold as far as we can tell; I'm afraid your boy is dead."

"I was afraid of that. I just hope he took my secrets to the grave with him." Erik replied coldly.

"I highly doubt that he did. Which leads me to the one bit of news that I do have for you. I just received a packet from one of my couriers. You'll never guess which two old friends of yours were spotted having dinner together last night?" Micheil taunted his brother.

"Damn it. I don't have time to play games with you today, Micheil. Just tell me." Erik growled.

"Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning, Erik?" Before his brother could explode, Micheil continued. "Andrei Volchok and Colonel Fyodor Stepanov Domaslav. I'm holding the picture of their têt a têt in my hand as we speak. It's a little grainy and taken from a distance, but I've had my people clean it up and enhance it. It's definitely those two old birds." Micheil waited for his brother to digest the information.

Erik's blood ran cold with the news. Volchok was of course the Russian Mafia boss whom he had stolen from, while Domaslav was the KGB officer whom Erik had had the most contact with in the old days. Those two had no love lost for each other, so a dinner meeting was entirely too out of the ordinary to be a coincidence.

When Erik remained silent, Micheil continued. "We'll step up our surveillance on those two, and try to get a man in to plant some listening devices. I don't like this at all, Erik, especially coming on the heels of Sayed's disappearance. Be extra careful on your end. Volchok is ruthless if they really are plotting something."

"Keep me informed. Next time in a more timely manner." Erik ordered.

Micheil sighed. "Erik, you would have heard from me in another two hours. I have a high level Middle Eastern delegation in town, and I've been swamped."

A dial tone was Micheil's only answer.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Christine watched out the window as Expanded Edge's tour bus passed an airport, then she looked out the opposite window and gasped out loud at what lay before her. "My God," she exclaimed, "this is beautiful! Where are we?" After three months on the road, she often had no idea what city they were in until Melvin told her before they took the stage.

"We're coming into Lexington, Kentucky, and the white fences you'll see just ahead are the famous Calumet Farm, birthplace of several Kentucky Derby winners," Brooke told her.

"Oh I forgot, you're from this area, aren't you?"

"Not from here, but about an hour north of here, Cincinnati, Ohio," Brooke told her. Brooke had graduated from the prestigious Cincinnati Conservatory of Music, and was classically trained, which explained why Shadow had tapped her for the group.

Christine continued to watch the scenery as the bus rolled toward town. Looking out across the soft green fields, she noticed row upon row of thousands of parked cars. "What's going on over there, Brooke? Do you know?"

Brooke followed Christine's gaze and answered, "That's the Keeneland race track. When I was in school we used to come down on the weekends and hang out and party and bet. It was a blast. In fact, my parents are driving down tonight, and we're going tomorrow. You're welcome to join us. I'd love for them to meet you."

Christine flashed Brooke a rare smile. "Thanks. I'd really enjoy meeting your parents. It will be fun to get away and to do something different. I've been crazy about horses my entire life, but I've never had the chance to ride or to see horse racing."

"What will be fun for me is to actually have more than a student's paltry allowance to bet with," Brooke joked.

"Ah Brooke, you wouldn't know a race horse from a clothes horse," the band's drummer, Patrick Ryan called from across the aisle. Patrick was the quintessential Irishman – fair complexion, dark, almost black hair, and blue eyes. He had an Irish temper in equal measure with a fun loving nature. Patrick was the one who could always be counted on to tell a joke or to play a prank on his fellow band members.

"I'll have you know, my winnings paid for a lot of my expenses while I was in school. And what makes you such an expert," Brooke threw back to the teasing Irishman.

"All Irishmen are expert horsemen, lassie," he told her. "Some of the finest horseflesh in the world comes from Ireland."

"Expert horsemen, indeed," Brooke harrumphed. "I'll tell you what. You come with us tomorrow. We'll both start with one hundred dollars and we'll see who has the most money at the end of the day. Are you up to the challenge, or were you just handing me some more of your blarney?"

"You're on, baby, you're on."

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Christine couldn't believe the traffic jam on the way out to the track the next morning, and she was glad that as usual, Shadow Entertainment had made all of the arrangements and a limo had been hired for them. Lexington was only a medium size city, but it seemed as if every resident as well as all of their relatives had taken the day off to go to the races. Brooke explained that that was probably indeed the case, as the Keeneland Race Track was only open for three weeks in the Spring and three weeks in the Fall, and many of the locals actually planned their vacations around the races.

The imposing gray limestone grandstand and clubhouse had originally been built in the 1930's when the Depression had prevented horsemen from sending their horses to the large Eastern tracks. It had been expanded several times through the years, most recently two years ago when the historic Keeneland Association had installed a synthetic racetrack. The signature shrubbery in the infield, which spelled out the track's name, had been left intact though.

"Do you realize that this is the only totally private clubhouse in the country? The waiting list for membership is closed, and people actually leave their Keeneland memberships to their children." Brooke explained to the group as they walked into the saddling paddock behind the grandstand. They had agreed to meet Brooke's parents under the large old sycamore tree that stood guard over the area. "I guess Shay or even Geoffrey must have used Shadow's influence to get us a table in the members only dining room as guests of the track."

Christine wrinkled her nose and her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Do you know what I think would be more fun instead?" She asked. "It's beautiful out here with the trees turning colors; let's grab hotdogs and beers at the concession stand, mingle with the crowd and watch the horses." Christine was enjoying the fact that no one seemed to recognize them among the curious mix of people - women in designer outfits and men in expensive sport coats and slacks watched the horses being saddled along side of kids in hoodies and jeans. People from all walks of life had come to the race track to enjoy the sport of kings.

Brooke glanced over Christine's shoulder and spotted the two guys who were members of their road crew, but who also seemed to double as Christine's bodyguards. Their manager, Melvin Peaks, had been pretty evasive when she had questioned whether all of Shadow's groups were assigned bodyguards when they traveled.

Brooke laughed at Christine's enthusiasm, but acquiesced to her friend's request. "Sure Christine, if that's what you want to do. Mom and Dad can eat in the clubhouse, and we'll join them in the box for the first race. Let's get a Racing Form and start handicapping though. I've got a bet – several of them in fact – to win."

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Christine couldn't remember when she had had such a good time – certainly not since Raoul had died. She was so relaxed after a day in the sunshine and fresh air, not to mention the beer she had consumed, that she fell asleep in the limo on the way back downtown to their hotel. Brooke had been way up on Patrick in winnings until she had gotten over confident in the big stakes race late on the card and lost almost all of it. Patrick had backed the winner of the race, a handsome three year old colt sired by a former Irish champion, so he was merciless in his teasing of Brooke the rest of the afternoon. Christine had drifted off listening to their good natured ribbing of each other.

When they burst into Christine's suite, still laughing and joking, they were met by a serious faced Melvin.

"What's wrong with you man? You look as if someone has died." Patrick asked. "Oops, sorry Christine." He quickly added.

"It's worse than that. Sit down while I let the others know that you're back. I don't want to have to repeat this story more than once."

As soon as the band was all assembled, Melvin began. "Kevin was arrested today. The police found several bags of cocaine in his room – someone must have tipped them off. I've been on conference calls most of the afternoon with Geoffrey Riggs and Shadow's lawyers. It doesn't look good for him. There's a standard clause in all of your contracts that will get you canned immediately for a felony arrest."

Brooke was the first to recover from the shock. "But we have the concert tomorrow night. What will we do? I just can't believe Kevin would do this to us. He loves this band."

"I have to admit, I'm as shocked as you all are by this. I know I've given Kevin a hard time in the past, but he's proven himself to me. I never saw it coming with him. And I don't understand how a continuing drug problem or associations with elements of the drug world could have escaped Shadow's background investigation. They're so thorough, it borders on paranoia." Melvin said.

Christine, who had been perched on the edge of her bed, listening and taking it all in, finally spoke up, "I've been closer to Kevin than anyone here. I just don't believe this. Something else is going on. Kevin does not use or deal drugs. I just know it and no one will convince me otherwise."

An uncomfortable silence met Christine's declaration. Everyone knew that Kevin had been like an older brother to Christine, a relationship she sorely needed trying to balance her career and all she'd been through with her fiancé. If Kevin was guilty, it was going to be particularly hard on their lead singer.

"Christine, I know how hard this is on you, on everyone here for that matter. Do you want to cancel the concert tomorrow night?" Melvin held his breath, praying that she wouldn't want to cancel. He had had no right to even suggest such a thing and he'd catch hell from Geoffrey and upper management if she wanted to take him up on his offer.

Christine was thoughtful for a few minutes before deciding. "No, we're finally breaking into the big time, and this concert has been sold out for weeks. We can't disappoint all of those people."

"That's my girl." Melvin was relieved by Christine's decision. "Jennifer has been in one of the conference rooms all day learning the lead guitar parts. She already knew most of the numbers; she just had to perfect them and learn the newer songs. Geoffrey was able to find a replacement for Kevin. And believe it or not, he's from right here in Lexington, been living in Nashville and has played lead for some of the biggest stars down there. The guy's name is Zach Lambeth. We got lucky; he just finished a major road gig and was in town visiting his family. Once he's had time to learn the music, Jennifer will go back to bass and he'll play lead. Thank God the concert isn't until tomorrow night," he said, nervously wiping his brow.

Melvin looked around at the assembled band as he finished going over the interim arrangements. They were all quiet, downcast. They were playing before 24,000 people tomorrow night, and it was his job to make sure that this didn't adversely affect their performance.

"Oh, one more thing. There will be no comments of any kind to the press. Everyone got that? Shadow will issue a statement so no one here will need to answer any questions, although I'm sure there will be plenty of those. We're having dinner catered and delivered to the suites tonight – more privacy, less chance of a scene with reporters. I'll be in my room if anyone needs me." With that, a very uncomfortable, and weary, Melvin Peaks exited the suite.

The others too eventually trailed out, going back to their own rooms soon after Melvin had left. Christine lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, the high good spirits of the day ruined. She refused to believe it, no matter what evidence had supposedly been found. She had to talk to Kevin; she just had to hear his side of it. By the time she left her room to join the others for dinner, Christine had formulated a plan. She knew though that she couldn't let Melvin or her bodyguards know what she was up to.


	16. Ch 15 Things That Go Bump in the Night

Chapter 15

Things That Go Bump in the Night

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"Is my dress too bright for you this morning?' Christine asked Nick, who had been assigned to accompany her to the hotel's beauty salon. She noticed that Nick was barely awake and was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"No," Nick laughed, "it's just that you look like little Miss Merry Sunshine this morning. You're usually not a morning person, that's all."

Christine simply grinned at him. Good, that was just what she was hoping for. Christine didn't have much of a plan to escape her bodyguard, but what she had, called for Nick noticing the neon yellow mini dress that she wore. She did a quick jazz shuffle for him as he appraised her flamboyant costume, intentionally calling attention to the black and white zebra stripe heels that she wore.

With a cheeky smile and a wave, she left Nick sitting on one of the benches in the main atrium just outside the salon. Christine had already checked the salon's service entrance the previous evening, and knew that it was kept locked, so her only hope of getting by Nick was in a disguise.

She quickly entered the dressing room where the salon's clients were given robes to protect their clothes during hair colorings, and donned the change of clothes that she had stuffed into her bag, putting the robe on over her new outfit. She had already scheduled two appointments for that day: the first to apply a temporary dark brown rinse to her blonde hair, and the second later that afternoon to remove the rinse and to do her hair for the evening's show.

When Christine emerged from the salon barely a half an hour after entering, wearing simple blue jeans, a nondescript gray sweater, sneakers, and a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes, Nick barely spared a glance at the plainly dressed brunette who passed a few feet in front of him. Breathing a sigh of relief at her escape, Christine continued through the atrium and out the glass doors to the hotel's side entrance. She quickly hailed a cab and asked the driver to take her to the county jail.

"Sure miss," the driver said. "It used to be downtown, but they moved it just outside of town, to the country. It's a pretty place from the outside, but I wouldn't want to spend time there!"

When Christine didn't respond, the driver lapsed into silence. In truth, Christine was far too worried about Kevin and what she was going to say to him to chit chat with the taxi cab driver. As the cab pulled up to the detention center, Christine saw that the driver was right about one thing though: the place looked like one of the expensive horse barns she had seen the day before.

After passing through security and registering, Christine was ushered to the visitation room and seated at a table with a glass divider between the visitors and the inmates. Kevin entered, handcuffed and looking much older and more haggard than when she had last seen him. Had it only been two days ago? It seemed like months since this most recent nightmare had begun.

"What did you do to your hair?" Kevin asked her over the phone, smiling warmly at her through the glass and easing her discomfort by teasing her.

"It was the only way I could escape Nick. Why, don't you like it?" She countered.

"You're beautiful no matter what you do, Christine. How are you, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine, but how are you?" Christine couldn't hide her worry, or the tears, for her friend, touched that his first concern was for her.

"Now, now, now, none of that, Chris. You've cried more in the last year than any girl your age should be allowed to. So don't worry about me; I'll be alright. My lawyer flew in last night, and he suggested we hire our own investigators."

"Kevin, what about the....what they found?" Without answering her, Kevin simply placed his hand flat on the glass divider, never taking his eyes off of Christine's.

Christine reached up and placed her hand on the glass against Kevin's, holding his gaze. She had her answer. Kevin was innocent. She felt that truth lodge deep in her heart.

"I don't know, Christine, I simply have no idea how that stuff got into my room. I promise you though, it wasn't mine. I've never told you this, although I'm sure 'the Shadow knows', but I had a pretty bad round with drugs several years ago. Once I got clean, I never touched the stuff again. And I certainly wouldn't sell them or encourage anyone else to use them. I even donate money to programs to rescue and educate kids in the inner cities. No, those drugs weren't mine; I was set up."

Against her will, the old horror stories about Erik flashed through Christine's mind. But that didn't make any sense. Why would Erik sabotage his own label? And besides, as she had gotten to know Erik better, she felt that most of those stories had to have been highly exaggerated, as were most things in the entertainment industry. "Do you have any idea who would do that to you?"

"None – no fatal attraction-type women, crazed ex's, or cutthroat competition – nothing comes to mind. Maybe my attorney's right and we need to hire someone to get to the bottom of this. Otherwise, I'm looking at 20 years in the pen."

"Kevin, no!" Christine wanted to deny it, but she knew that Kevin was right. She vowed to do everything she could to help her friend and the best lead guitar player she knew.

Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

Erik waited for Christine to be ushered into the main living room with a strange mixture of foreboding and elation. Of course he was thrilled to see her – he worried about the stress of touring on her coupled with the death of her fiancé, and his videos of their sessions and of her recent concerts never captured her inner light – but he was also dreading their meeting. He knew why she had come – it was about the incident with that damned guitar player, may he rot in prison until his fingers were too curled with age to ever play again. That would teach that bastard to never get near Christine again. And Christine, what in the hell was she up to? It hadn't been that many months since the boy had died.

He stopped his inner turmoil just as Christine entered the room – my God, she was beautiful. "What are you doing here, Christine? If my memory serves me correctly, and it always does, you are supposed to be on your way to Indianapolis right now, not in Toronto." Was it only wishful thinking or did she look slightly crestfallen at his lack of greeting?

"Nice to see you too, Erik. I had something very important to talk to you about that couldn't wait. I hope I'm not disturbing you." Christine began to feel a prickle of unease at the intensity radiating from those golden eyes.

"And what is so important that you'd tire yourself unnecessarily right before a concert in the middle of a major career making tour?" He'd call her bluff; make her spell out exactly why she had come.

Christine hesitated, unsure of how to best broach the subject. She had gone over several different approaches in her mind since she had seen Kevin, but now standing in front of Erik, she discarded them all. "I came to ask for your help."

"Christine, my dear, if it is in my power, you know that I will move heaven and earth to help you."

That earned him a quick glance and a shy smile. "Thank you, Erik. I hoped that I could count on you. I've been to see Kevin, and..."

"You did what?" Erik questioned, his anger immediately taking over. Christine literally cowered in the face such explosive rage. "I do everything in my power to make you a star, and you throw it away by consorting with a felon?!?"

"Kevin is not a felon," she returned. "He is innocent; I know that he is. He's been set up. You must believe me." Christine felt as if she had a fist in her stomach.

"You know that he is innocent?" Erik mocked her in a high, girlish tone, so unlike his usual beautiful speaking voice. "And why is that Christine?" Erik asked in a way that told Christine no matter how she answered, it would be wrong. "Because I know Kevin. I trust him. I know that he used to have a drug problem, but that was years ago. Now he even supports drug prevention programs for kids. He says someone must have planted those drugs in his room and I believe him. Please Erik, help him, for me." Christine couldn't bear to meet those eyes, smoldering with barely repressed anger so she looked down instead.

"Help him for you, Christine? You want me to help the man who trashes the contract I gave him? Who drags the name of my label into the gutter? Who dares to interfere with the success of my personal protege? Why, Christine? Why would you even bother to defend such ungrateful scum? Is he your lover? Your fiancé not even dead a year and you've already found a replacement? Is that why you're here begging for my help to bail him out of trouble?"

He was shouting at her now, his voice rising higher and higher with each accusation. Christine could see what a terrible mistake it had been coming here on Kevin's behalf. She was shaking with anger herself, but she tried to form the words to refute Erik's accusations.

"No! Kevin is not my lover. How dare you make accusations about my private life?"

"HOW? This is how!" Erik yelled as he slammed a newspaper down on the coffee table in front of her.

Christine picked it up, and even though her hands were shaking with anger, she could see that it was the picture of Kevin kissing her. My God, was that what this was all about? Could Erik be jealous? He was her producer and mentor, as well as her friend, but what right did that give him to be jealous?

"Erik, there is nothing going on here. Kevin is like a brother to me. He, the entire band for that matter, were just happy that I finally came out to a club. That's all."

"Don't lie to Erik, Christine, don't ever lie to me. This is not a brotherly kiss. Tell me, did you enjoy it?" Erik's voice had taken on a silky, eerie calm, which actually frightened Christine more than when he was screaming at her.

"This is absurd, and I'm sorry I came here. I appreciate all you've done for me, but you have no right to question my friendships." Christine was just angry enough to sound defiant, but in truth she was terrified of Erik when he was out of control like he was now.

"No right? I have every right, and don't you ever forget it. I own Shadow, I own Expanded Edge, and I own YOU!" Christine flinched as Erik started toward her, but whatever his intention, he stopped abruptly, spun on his heel and left the room.

Christine stood rooted to the spot, fighting the rising hysteria, and wondering if Erik was going to return. She realized that she might have just aborted her career as it was taking off, and she had accomplished nothing toward her goal of helping Kevin. Was this the same man who had comforted her with that strange and beautiful song after Raoul's death? Whether the stories about Erik were true or not, Christine decided that he was definitely schizophrenic to act as he just had; she supposed she was lucky that he hadn't pitched her out of the window.

Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

Erik found himself standing in his studio. He had fled her, fled his feelings and his anger, only to run to the place where he had been closest to her. He'd weep if he knew how, but he honestly couldn't ever remember indulging in that kind of release.

His anger was turned inward now for losing his temper with her when they had been steadily growing closer over the past months, and his plan involving her manager, Melvin Peaks seemed to be working beautifully. Melvin had indeed been too harsh of a manager and critic for a neophyte like Christine, but Erik had encouraged her phone calls, and he had been supportive and understanding with her, tender almost. Christine had thrived under his tutelage when she'd returned to Toronto to work with him, each time leaving to deliver an ever stronger and more confident performance.

How could he think then that he loved Christine and then speak to her the way he had? Granted he knew little or nothing of the emotion, but he was well read enough to know that jealousy and obsession weren't love. What was love then? Books on the subject talked about 'equal partners', 'honest communication', 'unselfish regard for the other's needs' and 'trust'. On all of those counts, he had certainly failed. As he stood alone in the darkened studio, his temples pounding and his breathing ragged, he realized that he had two choices: he could either change or he could give her up completely. The former would be extremely difficult; the latter impossible.

"I'm sorry, Christine. Erik is so very sorry." He whispered into the dark and empty studio.

Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

Erik's mood and temper, never good under the best of conditions, deteriorated even more over the following week as the reviews of Expanded Edge's next two concerts came in: "Expanded Edge's Promise Unfulfilled", "Group Stalls on It's Rise to Top", "Failed Chemistry Experiment – Back to the Lab" - this last one an unflattering reference to Christine's performance with her new lead guitar player, Zack Lambeth.

"Mr. Remondet..." Erik's brooding was interrupted by Teo's entrance.

"Get out, Teo," he snarled. "I said I wished to be left alone. Entirely alone."

Geoffrey Riggs bravely pushed past Teo, and entered Erik's private office. "You'll see me, Erik, and you'll hear me out. Then you can throw me out."

In spite of himself, Erik was momentarily distracted from his depression. He glared at Geoffrey, but waited for him to continue.

Geoffrey started to hold up his copies of Variety for Erik's inspection, only to realize that Erik had been poring over the same issues. "We're in a free fall, Erik, and what in hell do you propose we do about it? I should never have let you frame her guitar player."

"He was a bad influence on Christine; he had to go."

"Yeah, well, in destroying him, you've destroyed her." Geoffrey thought Erik blanched at that comment, but with the mask it was impossible to tell. At least his eyes shuttered at the accusation. "Look, she's young, inexperienced, she has no family, and her boyfriend died of cancer. She's just not tough enough for you to screw with her mind like that."

"I wasn't "screwing with her mind" as you so crudely put it. I was...." Erik trailed off, unable to articulate exactly what he had been doing, other than giving in to his insane jealousy and obsession. He wasn't about to admit that to Geoffrey.

"You're the one who took this girl in off the street, mentored her – I was waiting for the four horsemen of the Apocalypse to show up when that happened – and turned her into potentially one of our biggest money making performers. This could be a gold mine for Shadow and I'm not going to let you screw it up."

"And just what do you propose we do about it," Erik's tone was frigid, and Geoffrey knew he was on thin ice, but he was too mad at Erik to care.

"I'm going to post the guy's bail, and hire the best criminal defense lawyers Shadow's money can buy. Do you have a problem with any of that?"

Erik was silent, castigating himself for having failed to offer that to Christine when she asked for his help. But perhaps it wasn't too late to earn her forgiveness.

"No, I don't have a problem. But let me speak with him first – alone."

"Just talk, Erik, promise me that you will do no more than talk to him."

"Of course," was all Erik would allow.

Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ

Kevin awoke to a peculiar buzzing in his ear. He floated in that twilight area just between sleep and wakefulness, listening. The buzzing sound seemed to morph into a voice, which reassured him that he was safe and would not be harmed. Kevin moved a bit closer to full consciousness. Was he still dreaming, or was someone actually in the little efficiency that he had rented after being released on bail?

Erik easily blended into the shadows in a corner, watching as Kevin responded to his suggestions. "Do you understand what I am telling you, Kevin?"

Kevin started to become alarmed as the voice became more pronounced and less of a buzz in his ear. Someone was definitely in there with him.

"I will not harm you. Stay calm and listen to me." Erik repeated these instructions until it appeared Kevin had relaxed again on the bed.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Kevin had no choice but to believe what the voice kept repeating in is ear – that he was in no danger.

"I am someone who can help you. Are you listening?"

"Yes, of course. Are you from Shadow?" Perhaps this was actually lucid dreaming, where a part of his conscious mind was aware of the conversation he was having in his dream.

Erik waited a moment before responding, and then threw his voice to the opposite corner of the small room. "Don't worry about who I am, only that I have the power to help you."

"How can you help me?" Kevin asked, feeling that it was surreal to be talking to a disembodied voice.

"Provide the best legal counsel money can buy. Prove your innocence. Re-instate you with your band." Erik hated to have to rescind his original plan to be rid of the guitar player. Perhaps it still wasn't too late to simply strangle him and be done with it. Sometimes he longed for the methods of the old days. He struggled to remember his reason for helping him – Christine. Only for Christine.

"You are from Shadow. Who are you then? Who sent you?" Kevin was quite sure he must be dreaming. But wouldn't it be great if this were true and he wouldn't have to spend the next twenty years of his life in prison. "Why would Shadow want to help me now? They fired me." Kevin remembered even in this twilight state though that Shadow had posted his very expensive bail.

"An angel interceded on your behalf. But my help is conditional. You must end your relationship with Ms. Davis. You will keep it strictly on a professional level or you will regret it. Do you understand me?"

"Man, I don't have a relationship with Christine. We're just friends outside of the group. Whatever gave you that idea?" Kevin pulled a little nearer to full consciousness. He was beginning to think that whoever this was might not be any help at all.

"Do not lie to Er...to me. I saw the picture of you kissing her. Do not ever touch her that way again." Erik felt himself losing control. Vaughn had better agree to his terms or he could just rot in prison for all Erik cared.

Kevin could hear the growing rancor in the man's voice, and he didn't hesitate to agree to his terms. "Alright. I promise. But I swear to you, man, it was just a kiss between friends, nothing more. Chrissie reminds me of my younger sister who was killed by a drunk driver when she was sixteen." Kevin stopped, drifting back into reverie until he thought he heard someone call his name. He remembered then that he had been explaining his relationship with Christine. "I was a shoulder for her to cry on about her poor son-of-a-bitch fiancé. If you knew Christine, you'd know she's not that kind of girl."

Erik had felt plenty of shame over the years at his appearance, but never for his actions. He felt it now though, and powerfully, as he remembered how harshly, and unjustly it seemed, he had accused Christine. What was wrong with him that he hadn't believed her, and could he ever learn to overcome his dark tendencies? He was teaching Christine how to make the most of her voice; perhaps she could teach him how to be a human being.

Erik needed to get out of that place. "I will have attorneys contact you," he said before using his voice to lull Kevin back into a deep sleep. He escaped into the night to be alone with his miserable thoughts.


	17. Ch 16 Nolle Prosequi

**Chapter 16**

**Nolle Prosequi**

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Kevin sat straighter in his chair and strained to pay attention to what the attorney seated across from him was saying. He was concerned of course – his future depended on it – but William Pursley Clay, Esq. had droned on in a clench-jawed monotone for nearly thirty minutes. Clay descended from one of the central Kentucky blue blooded families, and was quite elegant in appearance: conservatively cut silver hair, patrician features, and a very expensively tailored suit. Also seated across from Kevin and next to Mr. Clay was one of the two attorneys that Shadow had flown in for this meeting – Ken Yoshida, a slightly built man of Japanese descent, who practiced law in San Francisco. Next to Kevin sat Mr. Yoshida's unlikely New York counterpart, Arthur Cimino, a short, stocky balding man who constantly chewed an unlit cigar stub, looking more like a retired prize fighter or cab driver than an extremely successful attorney.

They were meeting in Clay's offices located several floors up in a major bank building in downtown Lexington. The offices were sumptuously appointed with dark wood paneling, bargello tapestry covering the wing chairs, and hand-knotted oriental rugs on the floors. Original paintings of race horses and sporting scenes hung on the walls above the chair rails.

Kevin was totally unacquainted with either of the attorneys supplied to him by Shadow, and was still at a loss as to why they had gotten involved in his defense. Not that he wasn't immensely grateful, but the whole ordeal from the surprise drug raid to his unexpected bail out and release had been surreal in the extreme. More so now that he had been clean for five years and had given many hours of his free time to educate juveniles about the dangers of drug use.

He had spent quite a lot of time in the week between the strange nocturnal visit and this meeting thinking about who might have been in his room and who had interceded on his behalf with the powers that be at Shadow. If it had been his family or friends, they would have made themselves known. Kevin had briefly tossed around in his mind the many rumors he had heard about Shadow's crazy owner, Erik Remondet, as breaking into his room and almost hypnotizing him sounded like something Remondet would do, but Kevin couldn't imagine himself an important enough investment to attract Remondet's interest. The most logical explanation was that perhaps his surrogate little sister, Christine had gone to bat for him. Although he found it hard to believe that even she had been able to accomplish such a miracle.

With an effort, Kevin stopped the churning in his mind and pulled his attention back to Clay and the others. Mr. Yoshida was looking at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry, what did you say." Kevin had to ask him.

"I was just apprising everyone here of the initial reports we've received from the investigators that we hired. So far they have found nothing – no evidence of a break-in to your room, and no one saw anyone either entering or leaving your room during the hours when the drugs allegedly could have been planted. Currently, they are trying to track down the source of the tip to the police. That may be the key to breaking this case open." Mr. Yoshida was soft spoken, and his dark eyes seemed sympathetic.

"To hell with all that. I say let Kevin take a lie detector test, and if he passes it, and there's no reason why he shouldn't if he's innocent, then we'll approach the prosecutor about a deal." Cimino's abrasiveness was in sharp contrast to Yoshida's polite manner.

Clay's cold blue eyes had taken in the exchange, and he cleared his throat in preparation of speaking. "Gentlemen, if I may, I would like to establish some facts with Mr. Vaughn before we decide on the best way to proceed. Mr. Vaughn, summarize for me the events leading up to the police raiding your hotel room."

"Well, sir, we landed in Lexington the evening before. We had just played a big concert the night before that in Nashville, and we were all pretty wasted, um, tired, so we grabbed a quick dinner and called it a night."

"Did you order room service or did you go out?" Clay interrupted.

"We went to the restaurant across the street from the hotel – Desha's."

"How long were you out of your room?"

"An hour, maybe. No more than an hour and a half."

"Did you notice anything unusual when you returned?"

"No, but as I said, we were all pretty tired and I had had a couple of beers at dinner, so I wasn't taking inventory. I just came in, checked my messages, watched a little tube until I fell asleep."

There were a few minutes of silence while Clay and the other two attorneys made notes. Cimino finished first, and turned to meet Kevin's eye. He didn't say anything, just chewed on the end of his cigar and looked as if he were trying to decide something. Mr. Clay resumed his questioning.

"What did you do the next day, prior to your arrest?"

Kevin closed his eyes a moment trying to remember that last precious morning of freedom. "Christine, our lead singer, and two of the other band members went out to the racetrack. They asked me to go with them, but I wanted to finish working on some new arrangements that morning. But first I went out to a guitar shop for some new strings and to see what they had. One of the guys on the front desk recommended it. I was hungry after that, so I stopped for some lunch and then came straight back to the hotel. I wasn't in my room ten minutes when the police knocked on the door."

Cimino and Yoshida seemed to exchange knowing looks. But Kevin found it impossible to get a read on either one of them.

"So your room was empty for at least an hour the night before, and for two hours in the morning – plenty of time for someone to get in and get out without being seen." Yoshida interjected.

"Well then, the only problem we've got as I see it, is he could have obtained the drugs either the first night he was here, or the next morning while he was out. That's the argument we'll have to fight." Cimino spoke around his cigar, almost as if he were thinking out loud.

Clay and Yoshida both nodded in agreement. "The first night shouldn't be a problem; he was with the other band members. I'll have the investigators check with guitar shop and the restaurant where he had lunch to see if they can corroborate his story. Assuming they can, that will significantly decrease the window of time we're dealing with." Clay spoke to the other attorneys as if Kevin wasn't there, and then caught Cimino's eye and nodded.

Cimino took the cue and this time he removed his cigar before addressing Kevin, "Kevin, it was suggested by upper management at Shadow, and it is usually in everyone's best interest to follow such suggestions, that your best option would be to take a lie detector test. Will you do that?"

"Sure, I don't have anything to hide," Kevin assured the attorneys. "Shadow already knows about my prior drug problems, but I swear, I haven't touched the stuff in over five years. And I know nothing about those drugs found in my room. I'd swear someone had set me up, but I've racked my brain and can't think of anyone who would have it in for me like that."

Again it was Cimino who spoke, "No jealous husbands, scorned ex-wives or girlfriends? Or maybe a drug dealer from your past who you might still owe money to?"

"No, nothing like that. Believe me, if I had any ideas, I'd share them with you. I want this nightmare to be over so I can get back to playing music."

Yoshida turned to Clay, "If you'll arrange to have a lie detector test administered, once we have the results, we'll meet to determine our strategy."

"I've got to fly back to New York for a meeting tomorrow, but I'll be back here the following day. We've been retained to clear your name, Kevin, no matter how long or how much money it takes." Cimino said rising from his chair, signally that the meeting was over.

Kevin and Yoshida followed suit, and Clay walked with them down the thickly carpeted hall. "Kevin, my office will contact you with the time for the test. I'm going to insist that it be administered here. Gentlemen, you'll be notified when we have the results. Until then..."

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Without planning to, Kevin had managed to time his arrival at the attorney, William Clay's office just as Arthur Cimino was stubbing out his ever present cigar before entering the building. He grinned as he looked up and saw Kevin approaching, and Kevin noticed that a smile did not improve Cimino's countenance. Rather, it gave him a vaguely sinister, up-to-no-good expression. Kevin hoped that wasn't the case where he was concerned.

"There you are Vaughn. Got some good news for you just this morning from the private investigator. Let's go on up so I don't have to tell it more than once. Yoshida's already gone in."

Kevin exhaled a sigh of relief. He had been more worried about these charges than he cared to admit. "Glad to hear that Mr. Cimino. I really appreciate all that you, Mr. Yoshida and Mr. Clay are doing for me. I still can't figure out why Shadow would go to this much trouble for me though."

Cimino eyed Kevin speculatively as he held the door open for him. "Not so hard to figure. Shadow wants to protect its investment. Riggs thinks your group is really going places."

"But our contracts all have a standard termination clause for a felony arrest. Why make an exception for me – not that I'm not grateful. I am!" Kevin pressed.

"I really can't answer that. But I can tell you, the decision to defend you came from the top, the very top." Kevin was quiet in the elevator on the ride up to Clay's floor, still mulling over what Cimino had just told him, yet unable to believe the evidence before him – that it most likely was Remondet in his apartment that night. Was his "angel" Christine then? And if so, what was her connection to Remondet?

They entered the conference room to find Clay and Yoshida taking their seats.

"Hello Arthur, Kevin. Please be seated and we'll get started. Arthur, why don't you go first. I believe you told me on the phone that you had some news from the investigator." Clay said.

Switching the cigar stub to the other side of his mouth, Cimino spoke, "They traced the source of the tip using the police call records. It was called in by a guy who fancies himself a member of the paparazzi. Problem is he's not satisfied with just taking pictures; he sometimes likes to create the stories he's photographing. He's been pulled in before for setting up situations and then being the first to "break" the story. He's had charges filed against him and even done some jail time for his stunts. The police are tracking him down now to bring him in for questioning." Again, Kevin caught the self-satisfied smile that Cimino wore.

"This should greatly bolster our argument that the drugs were planted." Yoshida said thoughtfully.

"Yes, but more importantly, we have the official results from the lie detector test Kevin took last week. He passed with flying colors. The report states, and I quote, 'there is no evidence of prevarication on any question from any of the indicators measured'." Clay looked up at Kevin and smiled. "I've called Ben Johnson, our district attorney, to set up a meeting. From our preliminary conversation over the phone, I believe he will be agreeable to filing a motion of 'Nolle Prosequi' – legal jargon, Kevin, for 'unwilling to pursue'. "

"Well, I should think he would. Between the results of the lie detector test, and now the investigator finding this very questionable 'source', they just don't have a case. There is absolutely nothing to link our client to those drugs." Yoshida put in.

"Kevin, you'll have to stay in town until the motion is filed and agreed to by the judge, but then I think it is safe to say, you'll be a free man." Clay said.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Five short days later, Clay's words proved prophetic as the judge did indeed rule favorably on the prosecutor's request for Nolle Prosequi. Kevin spent most of the next two days on airplanes and in airports, missing his connection in Chicago for Toronto and a debriefing from Shadow's president, Geoffrey Riggs. After he finally met with Geoffrey, Kevin flew out to meet up with the band in Dallas. Kevin never mentioned to Riggs the visit from whom he now assumed had been Redmonet, nor did Riggs bring up their employer. Despite his almost fatally bad luck, Kevin was glad that the ordeal was behind him and was happy to be rejoining Expanded Edge.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

It was after nine in the evening by the time Kevin made it to the hotel where the group was staying and checked into his room. Despite the hour, he was ravenous from only having been fed peanuts on the flight, and he was anxious to ask Christine about Remondet. Kevin dialed her room, hoping that she hadn't gone out with some of the members of the band.

"Can I buy you dinner, beautiful?" Kevin asked when Christine answered.

"KEVIN!!!" Christine's shrill squeal of delight blasted Kevin's eardrums. "Where are you? When did you get here?"

"I'm right down the hall, and I just arrived. I was serious about the dinner invitation. I haven't eaten and I'm starved."

"I've already eaten, but I'll have something to drink while you eat. I can't wait to see you. Come get me when you're ready."

"See you in a few. I won't be long." Kevin said then rang off.

Due to the hour, they decided to eat in the main dining room at the hotel. After ordering, Kevin reached across the table and took both of Christine's hands in his. "I understand I have my guardian angel to thank for my freedom," he said.

"I don't understand what you mean. We were all told that you passed a lie detector test and the case was dropped. What's this about a guardian angel?" Christine asked looking puzzled.

"I thought it must have been you who went to bat for me with Shadow, at least that's what Remondet seemed to indicate."

Christine's blue eyes widened with surprise. "You spoke with Erik? When? What did he say?"

"I think it was Remondet that I spoke with; I'm not sure though. I was some where between sleep and being awake. Someone was in my apartment, but I couldn't actually see who was there. They seemed to be speaking directly into my ear in a very strange buzzing manner. I don't know, maybe I was dreaming." Kevin saw that Christine's face immediately paled. "What? What's wrong?" He asked her.

"Nothing...Erik, uh, Mr. Remondet..."

"That's okay, Chris. I know you two have worked together and are on a first name basis. You don't have to be formal with me." Kevin interrupted to reassure her. They stopped talking as the waiter served Kevin his meal. Once they were alone again, Christine continued their conversation.

"I was going to say that it does sound like Erik. I've heard him do that before. But how did I get brought into it?" Christine felt her curiosity rise as she learned the details of Erik's involvement.

"Nothing directly. But when I asked him why he was helping me, he said only that 'an angel had interceded on my behalf'. At first I couldn't figure it out, but one of the attorneys sent by Shadow indicated that the request to defend me had come from the top. 'The very top' were the words he used. You were the only angel that I could think of who would help me, and as I said, I knew you had spent time with Remondet."

Christine wasn't sure why Erik had changed his mind about helping Kevin. When he had finally called her after her disastrous appeal on Kevin's behalf, he had apologized sincerely, and had begged her forgiveness. For the first time since she had known him, Erik had actually opened up a bit about himself, if only to explain that he had a lifelong and deep-seated distrust of most people. He also told her that Shadow was doing everything possible to help Kevin.

Christine didn't want to let on to Kevin about Erik's jealous rant when she originally asked for his help though. "I did ask him to help you, but I wasn't sure whether he would be able to or not. I'm so happy that he did. I knew you were innocent, and the group hasn't been the same without you."

"Thanks, babe. I'm just glad to be out of that mess. I really owe Remondet and Shadow big time." Kevin said quietly. Christine could tell that his experience had left a mark on Kevin. She hoped he would be able to get over it in time.

"I hope they keep Lambeth though. I've heard him play before and he's awesome. It would be great to play with him." Kevin said, changing the subject.

"Melvin indicated that they wanted to. Jennifer's boyfriend finally proposed so she might be leaving the group. Zack could alternate between lead and bass depending on the song. Come on, finish up and let's get out of here. We've got an early run through in the morning. The concert here tomorrow night sold out once the word got out that you'd be playing." Christine smiled at her friend, happy to have him back with her. But Erik's part in Kevin's return had left her more confused than ever about Shadow's owner.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Expanded Edge stood ready on the pitch black stage for the final song of the night. Only Christine was visible, illuminated by an amethyst spot as she perched on the edge of a stool waiting for the intro to what had become her signature song - Indigo Morning. It had been Erik's idea to heighten the drama of the song, and Christine's delivery, by spotlighting her with the inky light. He had also taken the music down behind her to an unplugged, almost acoustic sound, which allowed her powerful soprano vocals to soar. And her fans loved it. They waited expectantly, collective breath held, for her first crystalline note. And when it came, so did their cheering, screaming acclaim. Christine lost herself in the music, loving this part of the show the best, as she fed off of the energy from the crowd.

When it was over, the crowd screamed, whistled, and waved light wands for a full ten minutes until Expanded Edge took the stage once more for an encore. The band's popularity had grown, and so had their CD and ticket sales. Even Melvin Peaks found less to criticize and complain about these days. Geoffrey was happy that their investment was paying a return, but also that his boss seemed, if not exactly happy, at least not so obviously and belligerently unhappy over everything. Geoffrey did notice though that Erik seemed to be working feverishly on a new project, and had to wonder what it was this time.

Still on an emotional high from the successful concert, Christine unlocked the door of her hotel room and switched on the light. Instantly, she saw the single, cream colored rose lying on a tray on the dresser, with a Fed Ex overnight envelope beside it.

"Erik," she said aloud. "What now?" If anyone had been listening, they would have heard the note of feigned exasperation in her voice, but they also would have seen the faint smile that lit up Christine's lovely face. She quickly tore the tab off the top of the overnight envelope and pulled out the piece of Erik's stationery inside, curious as to what he had to say that he couldn't have just said to her on the phone. They spoke nearly every day now, having grown closer since Erik's apology to her after the Kevin incident.

His handwritten note said:

Dearest Christine ~ There is something that is very important to me that I would like for you to see. If you agree, I will have a car pick you up at 7:00 tomorrow morning. I apologize for the early hour, but it cannot be helped. Erik

What now indeed. If she was lucky, she'd be able to get three hours of sleep.

**A/N: **I haven't groveled in a while, so I will now. PLEASE, please, please leave a note to let me know what you think. Just a word or two will do. A huge thank you to my readers - your number has grown significantly since the beginning of the story and I hope you're enjoying it. I certainly enjoy having you! And Erik sends a black ribboned rose to my faithful reviewers. You know who you are.


	18. Ch 17 Operation Mend

**Chapter 17**

**Operation Mend**

**"_It is the Divine right of man to appear human_."**

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Erik watched Christine get out of the limousine with something close to joy rising up inside him. A novel feeling for him, but he had been unsure whether Christine would accept his cryptic invitation. If she hadn't come, the driver would have driven to the airport anyway to let Erik know that he'd be flying on to California alone. It was so much better this way.

Erik stood in the cabin of the aircraft as Christine entered. She seemed surprised, albeit pleasantly, to see him. "Erik!" She exclaimed. "I wasn't sure you'd be here." She approached him and embraced him lightly.

"So where are you taking me?" Christine asked him.

He was finding it hard to breathe between her proximity and the sparkle in her Dresden blue eyes. He finally managed to answer her. "It is a surprise. No more questions for now. I know you haven't had enough sleep, so I want you to recline your seat and take a nap while we're in the air."

"But Erik, I...."

"Don't argue with me, Christine. All of your questions will be answered in due time." He handed her a light weight throw and pointed to her seat.

Without further argument, Christine acquiesced, realizing that Erik was right, and that she'd probably enjoy their destination more if she was able to keep her eyes open.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Erik watched Christine's expression intently as they traversed the U.C.L.A. Medical Center in search of Dr. Thomas Irving's office. She was obviously curious about their mission, as well as surprised that he had brought her here. Or maybe she was just surprised that he was actually out in public in broad daylight. Erik was somewhat surprised himself at that. But Dr. Irving had convinced him to come, promising Erik that he wouldn't regret it, and so here he was.

Dr. Irving was waiting to greet them personally when they finally found the right office. "Mr. Remondet, thank you for coming all this way. I'm Dr. Thomas Irving; delighted to meet you." He smiled genially as he shook hands with Erik.

"Dr. Irving, I'd like you to meet Christine Davis, our newest star, and although she isn't aware of it, the inspiration for my involvement with Operation Mend." Erik said as he introduced Christine. He saw that he had surprised Christine again, and he realized that he was enjoying himself in the process.

"Christine, it is a pleasure to meet you, and I have to say, I am grateful to you for whatever role you've played in sending this generous man to us."

"It is very nice to meet you too, Dr. Irving," Christine responded, still mystified.

"Would you two like a tour of the facilities?" Dr. Irving asked.

"We'd be delighted to, but first, would you explain to Christine a little about what you do here? The trip here was a surprise for her, and I haven't told her anything about it yet." Erik asked Dr. Irving.

"Of course." Dr. Irving agreed. "Christine, Operation Mend is a program established here at U.C.L.A. in cooperation with Brooke Army Medical Center in Texas, to perform reconstructive facial surgery on soldiers who have been severely wounded in Afghanistan and Iraq," the doctor explained. "Federal health care only covers about one-third of the cost of these surgeries, so it is imperative that we have outside help from private donors such as Mr. Remondet."

Christine shot Erik a quick look, her mind now reeling from the series of discoveries that morning. Erik returned her glance with a trace of a smile, but when he looked back at Dr. Irving, he found the doctor staring at him expectantly.

"Mr. Remondet, I certainly don't want to put you on the spot or make you feel uncomfortable, but none of these brave soldiers wears a mask. I don't think it is fair to them for you to do so, so I'm going to hold you to your promise to me.

Erik almost couldn't hear what Dr. Irving was saying over the kettle drum beating in his chest. As soon as the doctor had started speaking, Erik knew what he was going to say. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought about his conversation with Irving when he asked Christine to come with him, nor could he believe Irving's forthright and almost nonchalant attitude about something as terror inducing as removing his mask in front of someone.

From a distance, he heard his own voice saying, "You're right, Dr. Irving. It wouldn't be fair, and I am indeed a man of my word."

Erik suddenly felt the coolness of the air conditioning on his face - had he removed the mask? He felt himself losing contact with reality as the room became a spinning kaleidoscope of colors. His chest felt constricted and he was having trouble breathing when he felt the pressure of Christine's warm hand in his.

"Come on, Erik. Let's not keep Dr. Irving waiting. I am excited to see his work here."

Erik took a deep breath and tried to focus on Christine, amazed that she hadn't let out a shriek at the sight of his unmasked face. She simply stood patiently by his side, with only a slightly quizzical look on her face, and continued to hold his hand. He tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry to get the words out. He simply nodded and let her lead him by the hand as they followed Dr. Irving on a tour of the medical center's first rate facilities.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Christine and Erik were quiet on the return flight, each lost in his or her own thoughts, as they ate the lunch Erik had had put on board. It had been a sobering and eye opening experience to see the work that Dr. Irving and his staff at U.C.L.A. were performing for the troops and their families, as well as to meet some of the gravely injured soldiers. Christine was the first to break the silence. "How did you find out about Operation Mend, Erik."

"I saw an interview on television with Dr. Irving. He explained about his work and introduced a few of the men he had helped. Their bravery was inspiring, and I have to admit, it was also humbling to me," he began. He hesitated, lost in thought, and Christine noticed that he was fidgeting, something he never did.

"And what you said, Christine, about me hiding away and wasting my life really brought me up short. I decided to do something positive with my life for a change," Erik finished.

"Oh, Erik, I had no right to say those things to you and I apol..."

"No," he stopped her. "Don't ever apologize for that Christine. You were right, and it was high time someone had courage enough to say it to me."

"Still, I was out of line because I was so upset about..." Christine hesitated for a moment, a look of sadness crossing her features, before she finished, "Raoul."

"I'm sorry, Christine." Erik said simply. They sat in thoughtful silence again. Erik remembered how excited the wounded soldiers had been to meet Christine Davis. Of course they had recognized her, and she had charmed them with her warmth and kindness, talking with them and signing autographs. And for her part, he had also noticed that Christine hadn't so much as flinched when she looked upon their grotesquely injured features, many of them far worse than Erik's deformity. Was it possible to hope that she had looked at his face with the same acceptance earlier?

Almost as if reading his thoughts, Christine spoke, "Is that why you wear the mask, Erik? Were you wounded in a war?" She was glad that he hadn't put it back on once they left the hospital, but she realized that it would take time for him to become comfortable without it.

"No, I've been in a war, in Afghanistan, but I wasn't wounded there. I was born this way, Christine."

"Oh," she said, somewhat surprised. "Will you tell me something about your life?"

Here it was, the chance to put the idea of trusting another human being to the test. He hoped he wouldn't regret it, but what was his life anyway besides sorrow and regret? Erik took a swallow of wine and began, "I was raised in Russia; it was still the Soviet Union then. My mother was a Russian physicist. My father was French. He owned an import/export business - I'm not sure it was entirely legal. He met my mother on one of his trips from Paris to Russia and they fell in love." Erik's voice had taken on a cynical, mocking tone. Christine made no response, simply waiting for him to continue.

"God only knows what my mother had been exposed to in her work for the Russians. The doctors assume that was the reason for my - problem. My older brother also was affected by the toxins or the radiation, although his problems are not so obvious." Erik stopped and Christine could tell by his tone and his breathing that he was fighting the anger over the bitter memories. She reached out and gently put a hand on his arm.

"You don't have to tell me any more if it's too painful for you, Erik."

"No, I want to if you have the stomach for it. It's the first time I've ever told this to anyone." He closed his eyes, obviously remembering his childhood. "My mother couldn't look at me; she gave me the mask to wear. I think partly because she blamed herself. My father was gone most of the time, and when he was home, they fought about us boys constantly. He left one day and never returned."

He polished off the wine in his glass. "Since my mother was a physicist, our apartment was filled with books of all kinds. She saw that I was very well educated at least. I left home at any early age, and eventually I made my way to Canada." Erik abruptly ended his narrative. He certainly wasn't going to tell her that he had displayed himself as a living corpse nor could he tell her about his darker days with the KGB and the Russian crime organizations.

"What about your music? Who taught you?" Christine asked, switching to a safer topic.

"No one, I am pretty much self taught. My mother had a vast collection of classical music though, especially the Russian composers. I used to sneak her records and play them when she wasn't home." Erik paused for a moment, lost in the gentler memories. "She was actually quite a gifted pianist in her own right, although she never played outside of our home. We had an ancient upright piano that she used to play late at night when she thought we were asleep."

"That's amazing!" Christine exclaimed. "I've studied music for years and you're light years ahead of me."

"Oh, I've done plenty of studying - just not formally." Erik rested his head against the seat back, and closed his eyes. He sat so still, and so quietly, that Christine assumed he had gone to sleep. She rose quietly to go to another seat to give him his privacy.

"Please stay," he said, taking her hand to stop her from leaving.

"If you'd like. I just thought you had gone to sleep. Erik...." She paused for a moment, thinking about what she wanted to say. His golden brown eyes studied her.

"You've led an unbelievable life, and I have a feeling that it's been much harder than you've let on. But you have done many positive things, even before Operation Mend." Christine spoke earnestly. "You've helped me tremendously, and I know you've helped many other musicians. Fostering music is no small thing, Erik. The world needs art as much as it needs doctors."

Erik had to fight down a tidal surge of emotion before he could speak. "Thank you, Christine. You have no idea how much your approval means to me."

"You have that and so much more."

Erik felt that it was worth his entire fortune to hear Christine say that, and if the money he had donated to Operation Mend could help put back together some soldiers' lives, then it was money well spent. He too had received some healing in his own life that day.

**A.N.**: Well there you have it - the "unmasking". Operation Mend is an actual program at U.C.L.A., and while I changed the doctor's name, everything else is factual. I highly recommend watching the piece from the CBS Sunday Morning show that inspired Erik:

cbsnews (dot) com/video/watch/?id=5037047nphotovideo

Don't forget to substitute a . for the word (dot).

And please don't forget to let me know what you think. You guys were on a roll for the last chapter and I am truly grateful. ~_Donna_


	19. Ch 18 Realization

**Chapter 18**

**Realization**

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

"I am so glad to be HERE!" Christine yelled exuberantly as she and Natalia strolled arm in arm through Seattle's famous downtown shopping district. Brooke and Jennifer had also come along, and several people turned to look as the four women burst into laughter.

"Have you missed your old stomping grounds, Chris?" Natalia asked her.

"You bet I have. Last night's crowd was the best ever! Could you believe it?" Christine asked rhetorically. Expanded Edge had performed in Seattle the previous night before a sold out crowd.

"Well, local girl makes good! They love you here. Chris. And as a completely unbiased critic, I have to tell you that you all were great." Natalia told her.

"Unbiased - yeah, I hear that." Christine laughed. "I have so been looking forward to having this girls' day out with you."

Christine had been feeling the strain of the last month of the tour. The concert sites had gotten farther apart as Expanded Edge made their way through the West, necessitating longer days on the road, and even though their CD continued to sell extremely well, the gate handle had declined somewhat. Melvin had warned of this possibility, explaining that the band's type of music was not going to be quite as popular in the Southwest as it had been at some of their earlier venues. San Francisco had reversed that trend though, as the concert there had been a sell out, and the huge crowd had been loud and appreciative.

"Shoes!" Brooke exclaimed as the women passed a window displaying uber trendy shoes. "Let's go in and check them out."

As the group filed into the chic shoe store, Natalia asked Christine, "So what are your plans after you leave here?"

"I'll fly back to Toronto tomorrow to go over some new stuff with... management at Shadow." Christine caught herself just in time. Natalia knew that Christine worked regularly with Erik, but neither of the other girls even knew who he was, having only dealt with Geoffrey Riggs and the people under him.

"That doesn't seem like much of a break for you, Christine, having to work on arrangements at Shadow - not that we all don't appreciate it," Jennifer interjected. "She always comes back with the most amazing new music for us," she explained to Natalia.

Christine smiled. "I don't mind it at all. I actually enjoy it."

Natalia caught Christine's little grin, and raised a speculative eyebrow at her. Christine ignored Natalia's quizzical look, picking up a pair of purple suede lace up heels instead.

After the shoe store, the women hit four more stores before deciding to head to Pike Place Market for lunch.

"You decide, Natalia." Brooke said once they got there. "You're the local so we'll trust your judgment."

"Ha!" Christine laughed. "That always got me into trouble."

"Stop, Christine. You're going to give these girls the wrong impression of me. Besides, that was a long time ago; we've matured." Natalia protested.

"Ouch! I don't know which is worse. That made us sound like old ladies." Christine returned.

"What about fresh, local seafood?" Natalia asked. "My favorite restaurant for that is right down the street, Jack's Fish Spot - if you don't mind eating at a counter."

"For really good seafood, I'd eat on the floor!" exclaimed Jennifer. "Let's go."

They made their way to the restaurant and after a wait for stools, they finally found a seat and ordered their food. Just as they were finishing lunch, Christine's cell phone rang. She looked at the number, and saw that it was Mara. "Excuse me you all. I really should take this," she said.

"Hello, Mara? Is everything all right?"

"Fine, Christine. How are you doing? Do you have just a minute?" Mara asked.

"Sure. I was just having lunch with some of the band. What's up?"

"I just spoke with Raoul's attorney and the will has been probated. He needs to meet with you as soon as you can get here to sign some documents," Mara explained.

"Hmm... I have a break in the tour starting tomorrow, and I had planned to fly back to Toronto in the morning. Let me see if I can change my flight and come to New York first," Christine told her.

After finishing their brief conversation, Christine hung up, and turned to her friends. Natalia and the two women from the band had stopped eating, and were looking at their friend questioningly.

"No problems," she told them. "I just need to fly to New York in the morning to sign some papers for Raoul's attorney."

Christine could tell that Natalia was dying to ask her for more details, but until she spoke with the attorneys, she really couldn't tell her inquisitive friend anything.

"Dessert?" Christine asked the group, changing the subject.

"NO," they shouted in unison.

"That's okay," she laughed. "I'll buy some fudge at one of the candy shops then."

Natalia, who struggled with her voluptuous figure, shook her head. "I don't know how you stay so thin, Christine. Me? I'm not going anywhere near a candy store."

"Oh stop. You look great, Nat. Now, what stores do we want to hit this afternoon?" Christine asked her friends.

They left the restaurant, and the four women spent the rest of the afternoon roaming through the unique shops in the Pike Place Market area. At the end of the day Christine was tired but happy as she hugged her good friend, Natalia goodbye. "I'll call you when I get back from New York," she promised.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

The first thing Christine did upon arriving back at the hotel was to call and change her flight from Toronto to New York, and then she put in the call to Erik. She was disappointed that she would have to postpone flying directly to Toronto to work with him as she hadn't seen him since their trip to U. C. L. A. a month ago, although they spoke regularly on the phone.

"Erik, it's Christine."

"Hello, my dear. Is there something wrong? I can hear it in your voice." He responded, surprising her with his intuition.

"I'm going to have to postpone my trip to Toronto for a day, Erik. I have an appointment in New York with Raoul's attorney tomorrow to sign paperwork relating to his will," she explained.

Erik couldn't speak for the disappointment he felt. But he struggled to put aside his feelings and concentrate on her instead.

"I'm sending my plane for you, Christine. You'll be able to leave much earlier, and you'll be much more comfortable on it. Don't argue."

Christine had already opened her mouth to protest when Erik ordered her not to - she had already made the reservations; it was too expensive to fly the plane to Seattle and then New York just for her; a few hours one way or the other probably wouldn't make a difference. But she knew she'd never get him to change his mind once it was set on something, so in the end, she thanked him gratefully.

"I was getting ready to give you all of the reasons why that wouldn't be necessary, but I know it's useless. So I'll just say thank you, Erik."

"A very wise decision, Christine, and you're entirely welcome,." Erik wanted to say so much more, but nothing seemed appropriate, so in the end he fell back on their professional relationship. "I've started working on two new compositions for Expanded Edge that I think you will like. I'd like your input when you get back here."

"I should be able to finish this up in a day, and then I'll get back to Toronto as soon as I can." Christine promised him.

I miss you terribly, was what his mind hollered, but his lips only said, "Do what you need to do in New York. Call me when you get there to let me know you've arrived safely."

"I will. Thank you again, Erik," Christine paused, "...for everything."

"You're welcome, dear girl. Travel safely."

Erik sat staring at the silent phone in his hand for several seconds before he could bear to turn it off.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

"Can you believe it?" Christine asked rhetorically. "I'm a millionaire, a real live millionaire!" She shook her head, obviously not believing her own statement. Christine had come to Erik's loft straight from the airport. She had spent several hours of the previous day in meetings with Philip as the head of the de Chagny family along with the attorneys for Raoul's estate. After her conversations with Raoul on the subject, Christine hadn't expected much, and would have been happy with anything, especially now that it looked like her career was finally taking off under Erik's tutelage. But evidently Raoul's definition of "not much" and Christine's were two different things. He had left her a little over two and a quarter million dollars, a vast sum in her experience.

Erik was not quite as happy with the news, although he tried to be. Fame and fortune were the only two things he felt he could give her, and now the bastard de Chagny had managed to beat him to it even in death. It was taking the better part of Erik's control not to let his mood descend into anger and jealousy.

"Erik?" Christine could see that Erik was lost in his own thoughts, and they appeared to be dark ones at that. "Is there anything wrong? You look upset."

"I assume now that you're wealthy in your own right, you'll give up the band so that you can do what you want and enjoy life."

"Is that what you think?" Christine ask, glaring at him. "I am doing what I want! This was never about the money for me. Sure, I need to be able to support myself, but I'm doing this because I love to sing and perform." Appalled at Erik's assumption, Christine jumped up from her seat in his living room and started to pace in front of the windows.

Erik watched her for a few minutes without saying anything, battling down his mood enough to realize that once again, he had let his insecurities get the better of him. Finally he sighed, "I'm sorry, Christine. Forgive me for not realizing that you're a lot like me in that respect. We do this because of the music."

Christine turned and looked at him, finally smiling and breaking the tension. "So, what is this new music you need my help on?" She asked.

Grateful that he had dodged another bullet, Erik returned the smile. "Christmas carols," he replied cryptically.

"Christmas carols? That doesn't really sound like something Expanded Edge would do, does it?"

"Not exactly, but I've begun working on some alternative arrangements. You're a talented composer yourself, Christine, and I thought you might like to work with me on this."

"Why thank you, Erik, for the compliment," Christine said, flattered to hear what amounted to high praise from him. "I'd like to hear what you've got so far. I'm not sure I get what you're doing to make it fit the band."

"I can do better than that, if you'll agree. Have you ever heard Mannheim Steamroller perform?" Erik asked her. He couldn't believe he was actually going to do this - to ask Christine out. Granted it was more of a field trip for their music, but for the second time in as many months he would be spending time with her outside of the studio.

"No, I've heard of them, but I've never been to a concert or listened to a CD."

"They're playing tonight here in Toronto at the Sony Centre. Shadow has tickets if you'd like to go." He realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth that he had hedged and hadn't really asked her to join him. Before he could correct his blunder though, she spoke.

"Are you sending me? Or taking me? She asked playfully.

"I'd like to take you, if..." he gestured to his face, too embarrassed to finish, and angered that being seen in public with him might be an issue.

"And I'd love for you to take me." Christine smiled at him, hoping to transmit the sincerity of her words to him. She was only sorry that he felt it necessary mention it as if giving her an out.

"Do I have time to go home and get ready first?" She asked.

Erik was heartened by her response. "Of course. I'll have Teo drive you. I'll pick you up at 8:00."

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Erik had purposely planned to arrive at the concert just as the music started and they managed to slip unnoticed into Erik's reserved box after the house lights had already dimmed.

The sight of her had taken Erik's breath away when Christine greeted him at her door. She was dressed simply in a cashmere sweater over black pants and boots, and Erik realized with some embarrassment that he was over dressed in his standard coat and tie. He had gotten into the habit of dressing formally at a young age in an effort to compensate for the mask. The tailoring was now custom made and the materials were much more expensive, but that was all that had changed in the intervening years.

"Are you comfortable? Is the view all right?" Erik asked her now, wondering why if he wasn't discussing notes or time signatures with her, he was only able to come up with the most inane conversation.

"I'm fine, Erik. Thank you," Christine assured him. He'd had to lean close to her to make himself heard over the music and his warmth and nearness unexpectedly made her pulse quicken. The stage lights reflected in Erik's eyes as he spoke to her, bringing out the gold in them, but his eyes were no longer intimidating to her. Christine realized that in fact Erik had beautiful eyes fringed with dark lashes. She was glad that he seemed to have gotten used to going without his mask after their trip to California, as she had had little trouble getting used to the uneven planes and ridges of his face.

"Here," he said, handing her his binoculars. She reached over for them, gently leaning into him as she took the glasses from him. Christine was surprised to realize that she was flirting with Erik, and realized that she was enjoying this evening with him more as date rather than simply to check out a group and its musical style.

As Christine trained the binoculars on the stage and turned her attention to the band, she thought how much her father would have loved Mannheim Steamroller. The group played several period instruments - a recorder, harpsichord, hammered dulcimer, and handbells - along with the more modern ones. Their music was a fun and lively juxtaposition of old and new as they performed ancient traditional carols along with newer songs, some with modern arrangements and some in the styles of the middle ages and renaissance. She was thoroughly enjoying the concert, and she was eager to see what Erik had composed along the same lines for Expanded Edge to perform. Christine tried to pry the information out of him on the ride back to her apartment.

"So explain how you've arranged Christmas carols for the band. And which ones have you chosen," she asked him.

"Well, I've only started. As I said earlier, I would like your input."

"Do you think we'd have time to do three arrangements?" She questioned. "I'd like to do something slow and dark - I loved their version of Veni Veni - but I'd also like to do a couple of upbeat ones in the band's style."

"Three might be asking a lot, but let's see how much we get accomplished in the next couple of days. If you're willing to work hard, perhaps we can do it."

The limo pulled up in front of her building and parked, and Erik got out and held the door for Christine. As she took his hand and stepped out of the car, their eyes met, and an unexpected trill of desire shot through her. Christine could tell that Erik had felt it too as they both stood, locked in the moment, the air electric between them.

"Come," he said gruffly, breaking the spell. "The cold air isn't good for your voice."

"Yes sir," she agreed meekly, but then she laughed, unable to maintain the charade. Erik shot her a dark look when he realized she was teasing him again.

"How is it that one of the smallest people I know.." he began as he reached down and cradled her hand in his, "is the one who is the least afraid of me?"

Christine laughed again as they entered her apartment. Turning to him, she answered, "Because I've learned that behind the massive wall you've built, lives a very gentle soul."

Erik frowned immediately, but before he could protest, Christine gently placed a finger on his lips, silencing him.

"Shush, none of that," she commanded. "I'll not have you disparaging my date."

"I want whatever you're drinking," he muttered, taking her coat. But at least his scowl softened, elated at her use of the word 'date'.

"Would you sing it for me?" She asked, wanting to prolong the evening.

"It's late, Christine, and we have a lot of work to do tomorrow if we want to get three songs ready for you to take back to the band," he said, refusing her gently. He thought she looked disappointed at his answer, but her eyes lost none of their luster. It was better that he leave now and meet her in the morning back in the studio where he would be able to think more clearly, something he was finding impossible to do with Christine standing so near, looking at him so intently.

He was confused by the way she now looked at him, the electricity between them. He was the least likely of romantic candidates for her, and he knew that if she thought of him at all, it was only due to what she had been through in the past year and a half - the loss of her father and her fiance. She most likely saw him only as a replacement father figure. And even if he were a normal man, there was still the specter of his past raising its ugly head again. A past which Christine knew nothing about. It was looking more and more as if he might have to make a run for it, and after making her a success, he wouldn't ask her to give it up to follow him.

**Author's Note: **First of all a HUGE thank you for all of the great reviews! You all literally kept me afloat during an extremely wet (10 inches of rain!) weekend. You are the greatest! And secondly, right before posting this, I received an email from Iamphantomgirl who asked me to assure all of you who are reading _The Ruse_ that she IS working on the Epilogue. Don't give up! I'll try to spur her along for you.


	20. Ch 19 Vienna

**Chapter 19**

**Vienna**

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Erik instinctively glanced at the bedside clock before answering his phone. 1:37 a.m. He could count on one hand the number of people who had this number, and that included Christine. But he could see from the international area code that it wasn't Christine calling him in the middle of the night, and this could only mean trouble.

"Yes," he answered.

"I apologize, sir for disturbing you at this hour," a voice said in German, "but you've had a personal delivery, which requires your immediate attention."

Erik recognized the voice as belonging to Josef Moser, who, along with his wife Carli, lived as caretakers in his apartment in Vienna. But what in the world was Josef talking about?

"A delivery?"

"Yes, I believe this one comes from your mother," Josef replied.

"I'll leave immediately." Erik said, switching off his phone as he got out of bed and headed to the shower.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Erik stared down at the Sayed's inert form. It was as he had feared. Besides the signs of obvious torture, someone had also removed Sayed's teeth and cut off his fingers, making official identity almost impossible. Erik had not slept at all on the flight over here; he now had a splitting headache and was not in the mood to take on the implications of this.

"Where did you find him?" He asked Josef.

"Right in front of your door!" Josef replied, shocked at the temerity of whomever had done this. "As soon as we stepped off the elevator, we saw the rug, rolled up and bound with rope. We thought you had had it delivered of course, so we brought it into the apartment."

Erik wasn't particularly surprised. His apartment in the Fifth District of Vienna, near the old inner city, was probably the least secure of all of his residences as it was located in an historic, turn of the century building. It had been one of his first purchases once he began making money. The building had been built by a pair of famous theater builders, which had appealed to him, as had its location on a quiet, dead end street. The seclusion had also made it that much easier to deliver Sayed's body unobserved.

"Well, old man," he said, speaking to the dead man, "you arrived in a rug, and that is how you shall leave." Go with God, he added silently. "Help me roll him back up in the rug. Make sure it's well secured; we don't want him to fall out."

The two men rolled Sayed's body back up in the rug, and bound it firmly with the rope. Carli had retreated to the kitchen, unable to bear the site of the mutilated body.

Retrieving a phone directory from the desk, Erik looked up a number and dialed it. "Sebastien, it's Karl Vennig here." Erik had called Sebastien Leitner, with whom he had had some business dealings in the past. He had also bought the expensive antique rugs for his apartment from Sebastien's prestigious gallery.

"Karl, always good to hear from you. What can I do for you?" Leitner inquired.

"I'm thinking of making a few changes to the apartment, and I'd like a new rug for the bedroom. You know what I like; what do you have available?" Erik waited, playing out the charade.

"Let's see," Sebastien paused, going over the inventory in his mind. "There's a beautiful 19th century Tabriz that I recently acquired - golds, coffee and some black. I think it would be perfect for you, and it is in excellent condition."

Erik wasn't prepared to spend what Sebastien would charge him for a 19th

century rug of collector's quality, and told him so. "You'll want a king's ransom for that rag, you old thief. I'm not decorating the Taj Mahal, just my bedroom, which as we both know, no one will see but me. What else do you have?"

"Okay, okay, but you'll regret not taking it. It's one of a kind." Sebastien warned. "Let me think... I do have a very nice Khal Mohammadi, just got the shipment in. New, but his dying technique is superior to anyone in the business. They'll be worth a lot of money someday. I'll make you an excellent price on it."

"I've read about him; that sounds perfect. I'll take it." Erik agreed. "But I promised my aunt that she could have the old rug when I replaced it. I'll need to borrow your delivery van for a few hours to take it to her. I'll compensate you for its use of course. If you're agreeable, I'll send Josef to pick up the van and the Mohammadi."

Sebastien readily agreed to Erik's request, happy to have made a sale so easily.

If anyone had been observing the apartment building that day, they perhaps would have noticed that one of the occupants was redecorating. A delivery van from a prestigious oriental rug dealer delivered a rug late in the afternoon, and what was presumably the old rug was carried out and driven away.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Erik felt the tension from Vienna drain from his muscles as his body moved in rhythm with the bay mare he rode. A retired Thoroughbred racehorse, she was a handful, and she wanted nothing more than to flatten out into a gallop. With an effort, Erik managed to hold her to a steady canter so that he could enjoy the rolling countryside of his brother's farm in Northern Virginia. He had taken a limousine there straight from Dulles Airport the night before, crossing the the low mountain ridge west of D. C. to arrive at Micheil's door just after midnight. He had fallen into bed almost twenty four hours after having left his in Toronto, putting off an explanation to his brother until the morning.

Micheil had proposed a ride before breakfast, and Erik, who usually rejected spontaneity in any guise, surprisingly agreed. Micheil's farm consisted of several hundred acres of prime land in the middle of the Blue Ridge hunt country, with access to neighboring land by chicken coop jumps set into the fence lines. Knowing that the hunt had met the previous day and there would be little chance of encountering anyone, Erik relaxed and enjoyed the brisk air biting into his face as he rode.

Just ahead of him, Micheil suddenly reined his horse in and raised his hand signaling Erik to do the same. Erik slowed to a walk and pulled abreast of his brother.

"Why did you stop?" He asked.

"Look," Micheil said, pointing across the open field to a row of large, round hay bales lined up against the far fence. "Do you see her?" Micheil asked his brother. "There's a red fox sunning herself in the morning sun on top of the second bale from the right."

Once Erik picked out the correct hay bale, he spotted the russet colored fox easily. She stood up, eyeing them warily, her body held low against the top of the bale and her bushy tail extended out behind her.

"Come on; let's not disturb her. She's probably got some young cubs either hidden in the bales or else close by. Follow me and we'll ride along the river for a bit." Micheil turned his horse to the right, angling away from the fox, and Erik followed at an easy trot.

The brothers rode in silence across another large pasture that sloped downhill toward the river. When they got to the fenced boundary, Micheil opened the gate and the horses walked through to a wooded stretch on the other side. They carefully picked their way through the thicker undergrowth, avoiding low hanging branches before finally coming out onto the dirt road that ran beside the Shenandoah river.

"I'd forgotten how peaceful it was here." Erik said bringing his horse abreast of his brother's.

"I didn't realize you had any interest in peace." Micheil laughed, kidding Erik.

"The older I get, the more interest I seem to have." Erik replied, gazing at the wide, but shallow river. Micheil had once pointed out a V-shaped formation of stones in the river, a fish trap constructed by the Native inhabitants several thousand years previously.

The tranquil scene before him lay in stark contrast to what had greeted him the day before in Vienna. Ibrahim's death weighed on him more than he cared to admit; the man had been the closest thing to family he'd known in years. The manner in which he had been killed, and then dumped on Erik's doorstep to taunt him, had been a warning to him. A warning that his past was catching up to him.

All of which Erik was loathe to tell his brother, Micheil. Such an admission would lead to a declaration of war on Micheil's part as he knew that Ibrahim had been instrumental in getting him out of the Soviet bloc. Micheil would also consider it his duty to protect his younger brother.

The problem, Erik realized, was that just he and his brother alone could never defeat the underworld organization pursuing him. They would have to outwit them.

"Come on. You look like you've got something on your mind." Micheil said as they turned off of the river road and headed back toward the farm. "And I'm hungry. Let's go get some breakfast and you can tell me why you're here."

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Erik stared out of the French doors to the flagstone terrace beyond, impatiently waiting for Micheil to finish his breakfast. The planters and flower boxes contained only ornamental cabbage, hollies, and evergreen topiaries now, bereft of bright flowers in the cold Virginia Fall. It mystified Erik how his brother could put away so much food. The antique side board had been loaded with a traditional Southern breakfast when they came in from the barn, and Micheil had filled his plate with any number of unidentified items. Erik had helped himself only to a spoonful of scrambled eggs, disgusted that they weren't prepared in an omelet.

Micheil finally pushed back from the table, signaling the housekeeper for fresh coffee. "What's going on, Erik? Tell me. "

"It's Ibrahim - he's finally surfaced."

"Where?"

"His body was dumped at the entrance to my apartment in Venice. Josef and Carli found him, rolled in a rug."

"Any evidence of who did it?" Micheil wanted to know.

"It was obvious he'd been tortured, and they'd cut off his fingers and pulled his teeth to prevent the authorities from identifying him." Erik leveled a stare at his brother. "I think we both know who did this."

Micheil slammed his fist down hard on the table, rattling the cups in their saucers. "We should never have left before killing every last one of those bastards." He stood up violently, his chair crashing backward to the floor, and began to pace by the doors.

"If you remember, I wasn't in the position to take anyone out at the time. I was lucky I escaped with my life, and you were already on your way to America." Erik reminded him.

"He's just playing with you, you know that don't you"? Micheil sneered, still angry. "It's only a matter of time before he finds out your current identity and traces you to Canada, and then what? No, we need to get to him first." He declared.

"NO! We're too outnumbered. No matter how many of Vochok's men we kill, he would still send more." Erik agued back.

"So we go directly for his jugular - hire some of the old crew for a night raid to blow up his residence when he and his family are all there."

Erik had forgotten how bloodthirsty his brother could be when he was as angry as he was now. He realized that somewhere along the way he had lost his taste for it. Was he getting soft in his old age, or just more human? Perhaps it was Christine's influence.

"It would never work." Erik stated flatly. "There would always be sons or cousins or a brother in the organization who would swear revenge."

Micheil stared at his brother coldly. Erik had never been one to back down from a fight, and he wondered what the real reason was for his reluctance to take on the old Russian crime boss now. "Since you seem to have all the answers, little brother, what do you propose?"

Erik got up and went over to the sideboard and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. He was making every effort to curb his temper, but his brother's sarcastic tone was making it difficult. Taking his coffee into the adjoining sitting room where a fire had been lit in the old stone fireplace, he called to Micheil, "Come in here and quit being an ass, and I'll tell you what I propose."

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

**A.N.: **Lucky Micheil gets to live where I used to live in N. Va. - a very beautiful part of the country. Here is a picture of Erik's apartment in Vienna:

http://www (dot) ?dir=547&pic=547_01_img_8753 (dot) jpg

Remember to replace the two (dot) by the actual symbol. And for you phans of IMPG's The Ruse, I've edited the epilogue for her, so it will be up shortly. And do I need to say, it's wonderful! Watch for it.

Thanks to all of my readers - there are many more of you than the reviews indicate. I'm grateful and I hope you're enjoying. To my regular reviewers, you are the BEST!


	21. Ch 20 The Dream Fulfilled

**Chapter 20**

**The Dream Fulfilled**

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Christine was always the last one to take the stage for a concert, and when she finally walked into the spotlight, the crowd went wild. She had mastered her nerves and stage fright several months previously, but at this place, tonight, she felt almost giddy with excitement and disbelief.

One of the hardest things Christine had ever had to do was to take the stage for the first concert of her career so soon after Raoul died. She felt as if she had lost her fun loving, rocking, stage persona with him, and didn't know if she would ever get it back or if she even had the strength to fake it. Erik had generously offered to give her more time if she wanted it before beginning the tour, but she knew that a delay would cost Shadow a fortune, so she had insisted on going ahead with the tour as planned. It was the promise she had made to her dying fiancé as well as her loyalty to the band that drove her.

Expanded Edge was playing its last concert of the tour tonight - a sold out event at Madison Square Garden's WaMu Theater that featured the full orchestra backing. Like most of the innovative ideas for the group, it had been Erik's plan to showcase their final concert in the much smaller venue of the theater rather than the main arena, with profits to benefit the various 9/11 charities in New York City as well as Erik's project, Operation Mend. The limited tickets for the holiday season event became highly sought after, and prices skyrocketed.

Christine was glad when she looked out over the audience that she wasn't in one of the huge arenas that they usually played, but in a theater setting, which felt so much more intimate. It was a bittersweet note in this high point of her achievement that Raoul wasn't here to see her. Mara had come though at her request, and Christine was glad for their growing closeness.

Christine stole a quick glance over at Kevin, who looked up from his guitar and gave her a huge grin. The band was just winding up the opening instrumental medley of songs, which was Christine's cue to take the mike. They had perfected the set list over the months on the road, and so she opened with their first hit, Night Rainbow, and led right into two other cuts from the CD without a pause. They took a breather after the third song, and let Kevin introduce each of the band members, announcing Christine's name last. The crowd cheered and screamed through the entire introduction.

Right before the set ended, they slipped in one of the new numbers that Erik and Christine had worked up especially for this event - a traditional Christmas carol, rearranged in the symphonic metal style of Expanded Edge. The higher notes of many of the Christmas carols suited Christine's beautiful soprano anyway, so it was a perfect fit. Christine had always loved singing Christmas carols with her father, and so she put her heart into the new, yet old piece. She was rewarded with the audience's enthusiastic approval.

While she basked in the crowd's adulation, she heard a familiar voice in her ear monitor, "You sang that beautifully my dear." Erik! Christine hadn't heard from him for three days, and although that wasn't unheard of, it had become highly unusual for them not to speak at least daily. So he was here tonight after all. It filled her with anticipation knowing that she would see him after the concert.

Rather than ending the concert with the dramatic and moving Indigo Morning, they opened the second set with it. Christine was already seated on stage, the band with her, when the inky spot poured over her in the darkened theater. The audience cheered at their return to the stage, but quieted down fairly quickly so as not to intrude upon the beauty of the song.

The rest of the night went by in a blur, and Christine hated to see this, of all shows, end. She loved the energy of live performances and the feedback from the crowd. They ended the concert with the last of the rearranged Christmas carols, and when the band finished their version of it, they launched into the traditional arrangement. The crowd loved it, and sang along in the spirit of the holiday.

Expanded Edge performed two encores to one continuous standing ovation before leaving the stage for the final time of the tour.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Erik watched Christine deservedly enjoy herself at the private reception held after the concert for the largest donors, V.I.P.'s and other specially invited guests. He stayed hidden from view of course, concealed by the movable dividers between the banquet rooms. He hadn't been there long, preferring to arrive late rather than to watch the handsome men swarm around Christine all evening. And why shouldn't they? She wasn't the type to be alone, although he knew she rarely joined her friends in the band for social outings. Tonight was a rare exception, and he watched her now with a bittersweet mix of emotions, wishing that he could be the one at her side, and wondering who would take his place in her life when he was gone.

Erik shook his head to clear it of his melancholy musings. Christine had agreed, and happily, to meet him after the reception. She had even begged him to attend it. "Please come Erik. It's your company, and you went out in public when you went to Los Angeles and then again when you took me to the concert," she argued.

"Ah, that may be true, and though I never thought I'd say it, those poor fellows looked worse than I do." He had retorted. "And besides, very few people know of my connection to Shadow and I prefer it that way."

Christine had looked skeptical, but hadn't said anything else other than to ask where she was to meet him.

He laughed, that deep, musical chuckle that alternately frightened and excited her. "Don't worry, my dear. I'll find you."

He saw her glancing around now toward the darker corners and alcoves of the huge room, as if looking for him. Erik could tell that she was tired and was probably ready to leave. He pitched his voice softly into her ear. "Go to the service entrance at the back of the room. I'll meet you."

He had startled her, but he saw her look around for the correct door, and begin to edge toward it as she made her goodbyes. He had grown to trust Vaughn and the other two men in the group after observing them with Christine over the last several months, but it still rankled to see Kevin kiss her with an intimacy he'd never share.

Erik left his hiding place and moved quietly beside Christine just as she entered the hallway. Once again he startled her, but his spirits were lifted to see the sparkle in her eyes when she realized who it was. He put his finger to his lips, motioning her to keep silent and follow him. He didn't want to take the chance of being spotted by hotel employees or guests, or worse yet, fans of Christine's.

Christine giggled as if they were children playing a game, and put her hand easily into his. Erik's heart almost stopped when he felt the warmth of her hand, despite the signals she had sent him recently in Toronto.

Erik took her up the fire stairs rather than risk being seen in an elevator even though he had a penthouse suite. The band had been booked into the Affinia Gardens hotel, located directly across the street from Madison Square Gardens, and the reception had been held in one of the hotel ballrooms. Once he arrived in New York, Erik had also taken a suite there, and he took Christine there now.

Christine was surprised when she looked across the living room through the doors to the terrace to see the outside space lit with dozens of candles. "Erik, what is all of this?"

"Come my dear and I will show you," he said, holding the door open for her. He handed her a blanket to ward off the chill of the New York Winter air, as he guided her to the railing for a spectacular view looking out over the city.

"This is beautiful!" She exclaimed. "When did you get here, Erik?"

"Just a few hours ago. I wanted to hear the whole concert, but I only arrived toward the end of the first set."

He walked over to the table, which held a wine cooler and a bottle of champagne. He poured a glass for them both, and handing one to her, he said, "To you my dear, and to your continued success."

He was rewarded by her smile as she lightly touched her glass to his before drinking. "Thank you, Erik. And here's to the brilliant producer who guides me," she offered in return. They drank, enjoying the starlit night in silence, the sounds of the city far below them.

"I haven't heard from you for a few days," she finally said. "Where have you been, if you don't mind my asking." Christine knew questions to Erik were always risky, and his response could be volatile, but she was, as usual, curious.

He hesitated only a minute before replying, "I had some business in Europe that needed my attention. I was only there for a day though, and then I made a brief stop to visit my brother in Virginia."

Erik's mention of his brother surprised Christine as other than the one time after their visit to U.C.L.A., Erik hadn't talked about his family or his past again.

"Business or pleasure?" She asked.

"Mainly business, but you might be surprised to learn that I did go riding with him." Erik could tell from Christine's expression that the idea probably shocked her. "Is it so hard to imagine someone like me enjoying any kind of a normal life?" He asked, his voice taking on a hard edge.

"No, it's not that at all," she quickly assured him. "It's just that I've loved horses since I was a little girl, and I didn't know you rode. That's all." Christine watched him, and even in the flickering candle light, she could tell he was fighting his emotion.

She startled him by stepping closer and cupping his cheek in her hand. He flinched and jerked away from her touch.

"Please trust me, Erik," she said as she replaced her hand on the side of his face. Erik relaxed somewhat, and closed his eyes, enjoying her touch. Christine ran her thumb lightly over his lips, noticing that though they were misshapen, they were full and curiously sensual. Without censoring her actions, she stood on her tiptoes and lightly kissed them.

Erik's eyes immediately flew open, wide and almost fearful. "Why, Christine? Why did you do that?" He demanded.

"I - I'm not quite sure." Christine replied. "I guess because I wanted to." As he stared intently at her, she noticed that his eyes had taken on that strange golden color in the candle light. He turned abruptly away from her, walking to the edge of the terrace. He stood silent and immobile for several minutes until Christine noticed his shoulders were trembling.

"Erik," she said softly, "I didn't mean to upset you." She walked over to him and put her arms around his waist, laying her head against his back. She felt rather than heard, his sharp intake of breath. Then softly, so softly that she thought she must be mistaken - "I love you, Christine."

Before she could ask him to repeat what he had said, or to formulate a response of any kind, he pulled away from her, extremely agitated.

"Forget that. Forget I ever said it. I should make you forget it in fact."

"I don't think I want to forget it, Erik." Christine responded slowly.

"You don't know what you're saying, Christine. You've had a rough year, that's all. I can never be what you want me to be," he concluded bitterly.

"Erik, I..."

"Come," he interrupted abruptly. "I'll take you to your room. You've had a long night and you need to rest."

It broke Christine's heart to see the wall go up that quickly, and to know how lonely was the man behind it.


	22. Ch 21 Christmas Dinner

**Chapter 21**

**Christmas Dinner**

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

"I thought you two had progressed beyond this point." Teo said facetiously, watching the security monitor.

"What are you talking about." Erik had only come out of his music room for a cup of coffee to warm up his fingers, and happened to catch Teo's remark.

"See for yourself." Teo stepped aside to let Erik see the screen.

It was Christine, on his doorstep, again. Other than a handful of brief phone conversations, he had pretty successfully avoided her for the past two weeks, every since his disastrous confession to her after the reception.

"What in the hell is she doing?" Erik peered more closely. She appeared to be singing, and at first he thought she was wearing some sort of Victorian Christmas garb, but he realized that it was the red velvet dress she had worn for the charity concert at Madison Square Garden. "Turn the sound on," he commanded.

Teo turned the sound up on the speaker, and both he and Erik listened as Christine cheerfully serenaded them with a Christmas carol. "I believe they call it 'caroling', sir," Teo informed Erik, totally deadpan.

Erik simply glared at him. "Does she want to come in, or is she just going to stand out there in the freezing cold all night?"

"As soon as she finishes, I will ask her, sir," Teo replied. Although he would never mention it to his boss, he was fully aware of Erik's feelings for the young woman. Teo had felt badly for Erik during Christine's recent absence from the premises, although knowing his boss, he had very likely driven the young woman away with either his temper or his surly attitude. Teo took it as a good sign that she was there now.

Christine launched immediately into the next two songs just as she did for the opening of a concert. She was enjoying herself immensely, knowing that Erik was probably befuddled watching her. Erik had reverted to his abrupt, defensive nature, and had hardly spoken to her in almost two weeks. Every time she had called him, the call had either gone straight to his voice mail, or if he actually answered, he claimed some excuse to rush off of the phone. While Christine thought she knew why Erik was doing this, she didn't know what to do about it. So she did the one thing that had gained her entrance twice before: she sang for him, on his doorstep.

When it appeared as if she was going to keep right on singing the entire oeuvre of Christmas music, Teo opened the door. Erik had already fled back into his studio.

"Good evening, Miss Davis," he greeted her. "Won't you come in?"

Christine picked up the shopping bags that she had brought with her and gladly entered the warm interior. "Is Erik at home this evening, Teo?" She asked. "If not, I can simply leave his presents with you. I thought it would be fun to deliver them with a little old fashioned caroling."

Erik had failed to tell Teo whether he was 'home' to the young lady or not, so Teo made the decision on his own. "Yes, Mr. Remondet is at home tonight. He is in the music studio." Teo paused, knowing that his boss was more accurately 'barricaded' in the music studio for some reason, but he had an idea. "Why don't you follow me to the kitchen, Miss Davis. Perhaps I can supply you with something to induce Mr. Remondet to come out of hiding."

Christine grinned at Teo's unexpected collusion and, leaving her parcels in the hall, she followed him to the kitchen.

"What do you have planned?" She asked.

"Freshly brewed high grown Guatemalan coffee, liberally laced with Grand Marnier and topped with whipped cream - Mr. Remondet's favorite. That should do the trick," Teo answered as he dipped the edge of the goblets in sugar. He assembled the drinks and garnished the glasses with slices of fresh orange, winking at Christine as he handed her the tray.

"You take that into the living room, and I'll see if I can convince Mr. Remondet to join you." Teo's normally taciturn expression turned into a grin. "Then I'll prepare some dinner for you two. You will be staying for dinner, won't you, Miss Davis?"

Christine smiled at him. "Why, you old matchmaker, Teo. Unless Mr. Remondet throws me out, I'd love to stay for dinner."

As she carried the tray of drinks to the living room, Christine had to wonder what Erik would think of her staying for dinner, especially since she hadn't seen him in almost two weeks. She heard Teo go down the hall to the studio; she'd find out soon enough.

"Mr. Remondet, I've made you some fresh coffee and Grand Marnier. I put it in the living room for you."

"Thank you,Teo," Erik called from his music room. "Has Miss Davis left?" He asked, but Teo had already escaped back down the hall. Erik groaned in exasperation. He could let the coffee, and likely Christine, cool in his living room or he could play Teo's game and go face her. He might as well get it over with painful though it might be. He was still embarrassed by his admission to her after the Christmas concert and he wasn't ready to discuss what he saw as an impossible situation despite his feelings for her.

"Hello, Christine," he greeted laconically as he entered the room.

She looked up and gave him a beautiful smile and he felt his defenses begin to slip. "Hi, Erik. I hope I'm not intruding. I wanted to bring you your presents by."

"Thank you." He took the shopping bag from her and set it aside. "It's almost Christmas - I know your parents aren't living, but don't you have other family or friends you should be with?" He questioned.

Christine bit her lip. "I really don't have any family left - just a couple of cousins whom I haven't seen in years."

So, she was a loner like he was. No wonder she was so devoted to her music, and it certainly explained why she didn't mind spending time with him. Was he a replacement for the fiancé then, although that was beyond his imagination, or the missing father figure?

"Ah, so you're just lonely. That explains why you'd want to be with an old curmudgeon at Christmas."

Christine narrowed her eyes at him, exasperated by his perpetual defensive stature. "I am not lonely, Erik. I grew up as an only child, so I'm used to being alone, and I quite enjoy my own company. And even though I agree that you are a curmudgeon, it doesn't mean I don't enjoy being with you."

"You're a masochist then!" Erik countered.

"I give up!" She exclaimed, but she smiled at him, happy to know that he was actually teasing with her.

"You might as well - you know you can't win."

"Go ahead and open your presents," Christine insisted, ending their banter. "It's not much, but I went with a fun theme." Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief and Erik found himself drawn into her game.

He sat down on the love seat opposite her and took a sip of the coffee and liqueur before reaching into the bag and pulling out the first gift. He removed the decorative paper and looked at her quizzically - the large container simply read Georgia Fat Wood. Erik had no idea what he had just opened.

"It's a type of kindling, Erik," Christine explained. "It's great for getting a roaring fire going quickly." She reached into the bag and handed him the next present.

It looked to be about the size of a shoe box and Erik unwrapped it to find that it was indeed footwear - a pair of sheepskin slippers. "How did you guess my size?" He asked her, surprised. His feet were always cold but it had never occurred to him to wear anything other than his normal Italian dress shoes. He couldn't remember ever owning a pair of bedroom slippers in his life. "I'm beginning to see your theme here - warmth."

"Teo told me your size, and that's not the theme. You're close though."

Erik unwrapped the final box and laughed as he discovered a variety of Christmas movies on DVD: The Bishop's Wife with Cary Grant, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, Bing Crosby in A White Christmas and the newer Love Actually. He raised a skeptical eyebrow at the last title. "Okay, I give up. What's the theme?"

"R and R," she told him. "I gave you everything you need for a relaxing winter's day. You have to supply the popcorn though."

"Thank you very much, Christine." Erik was touched by her thoughtfulness, but more by the realization that she saw him as a normal man, one who would put his feet up in front of a fire and watch a movie.

"I have something for you too, but I couldn't wrap it. Wait here." He went back to the music room and picked up an instrument. He had thought long and hard about an appropriate present for her, considering and discarding more extravagant or personal items. He finally settled on giving her a vintage Martin acoustic guitar from his own collection, knowing how much she enjoyed playing.

"Close your eyes," he called as he came back into the living room. Christine obeyed and he carefully laid the instrument in her lap before telling her, "Okay, you may look now."

Christine drew in a sharp breath of surprise. "Oh! This is beautiful! I love it!" She exclaimed in rapid succession. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." She leaped to her feet and gave Erik a spontaneous hug.

It never failed to shock Erik when Christine touched him. He loved the feel of her small body against him and the light scent of her hair. "Ah, um, have you eaten yet?" Erik asked, breaking away in embarrassment.

Again, she flashed him a brilliant smile. "No, but Teo already invited me to stay for dinner."

"Oh he did, did he? I must remind him who works for whom around here. I guess I won't need to tell him to set an extra place at the table then."

Christine only laughed at him as she sat back down and started strumming her new guitar. Erik had it tuned perfectly, so she experimented with different chords and picking out some of her favorite melodies. Erik watched her entranced, her blonde hair concealing her face as she bent her head over the instrument.

"What would you say to recording another album, Christine?"

"Already? Our album is still on the charts," she replied, slightly puzzled by Erik's question.

"No, I don't mean Expanded Edge. A solo album - for you. I've been thinking about this for awhile now and I think this would be the time to do it."

"A solo album? Do you think I'm ready for it?" Christine asked surprised by Erik's suggestion.

Erik didn't answer her directly, but only leveled his penetrating gaze on her.

"Oh, yeah. Right. I guess you wouldn't have suggested it if you didn't think I was ready," Christine said, embarrassed that she had forgotten Erik's business and musical acumen, if only momentarily. Christine was relieved when Teo appeared in the doorway to announce dinner.

"Mr. Remondet, Miss Davis, dinner is ready." He nodded slightly to them and retreated to the kitchen.

"Come, Christine," Erik said, offering her his arm. "I'll fill you in over dinner."

They entered the dining room from the hall just as Teo entered on the other side from the kitchen bearing a steaming baking dish of lasagna. Christine was delighted as it was one of her favorite dishes and since her mother had died, she rarely got to eat it. Teo had also prepared a salad and a loaf of Italian bread for the meal.

"I hope a Cab is agreeable with you. Most Italian wines are too sweet for my taste," Erik said as he poured them each a glass of Caymus Cabernet Sauvignon.

"This is wonderful, Erik. Do you eat like this every night?" She asked, wondering why he was so thin if he did.

Erik chuckled. "No, but not that Teo doesn't try." The lasagna was excellent, rich and creamy with three different cheeses and expertly flavored with fresh basil and oregano. Erik wondered what benevolent gods had decided to give him this, the best of all gifts - Christine's company for what had turned into a holiday meal. He managed to push the encroaching clouds of his past away, focusing on Christine and her radiant beauty instead.

"The Expanded Edge CD is still doing well on the charts, and the sales and downloads of your two hit singles are also strong," Erik began. "So you're right - it's too soon to think about a second CD for the band, but I think it is the perfect time for you to release a solo album. You'd be riding on your band's success and at the same time establishing yourself as a solo artist." He waited for Christine to absorb the idea.

"The same genre, or do you have something else in mind?" She finally asked.

"A different genre, aimed at a slightly older audience," he explained. "Lose the metal, keep the orchestra and focus on big vocals for you. All original songs - no covers of existing ones."

"Original songs? Is this music already written?"

"Yes, and you may be surprised to learn that several of them are your compositions," he told her. "With only very minor changes, I've taken the folksy edge off of them and turned them into a vocal pop style." Erik took drink of his wine, savoring the feeling of an intimate meal with Christine in his own home, and feeling more relaxed than he had in years.

"I've contributed a few of my own pieces that didn't work for the band, but I think will suit your voice beautifully on this project," he finished.

Christine reached over and took Erik's hand. She had developed such a bond with this mercurial and enigmatic man. She wasn't even sure when or how it had happened, but she had thought of little else since Erik's declaration of love after the last concert. She didn't know if she was ready to call it love yet, but she knew how unhappy it had made her when Erik avoided her the past two weeks.

"I've missed you," she told him softly.

"I'm sorry, Christine. It couldn't be avoided, some, ah, unpleasant things have arisen lately."

Christine studied him, and noticed that he wouldn't meet her eyes. There was something he wasn't telling her.

"Will you tell me what the unpleasant things are?" She questioned. Erik's eyes flashed with gold the way they did when lit by some inner emotion.

"No. Trust me, you don't want to know about this." He pulled his hand away abruptly and picked up his wine glass, draining it.

Christine was almost sorry she had brought the subject up, destroying the relaxed, festive mood, but after being in almost daily contact with him for months, she felt she had a right to know why it had stopped. She intuited that a big part of it was his own insecurities, but she was also concerned for him - whether he was in any kind of trouble or had problems that perhaps she could help him with.

"I'm sorry, Erik. I didn't mean to upset you. Just know that I'm here if you decide you do want to talk about whatever it is," she told him.

"I'm the one who should apologize, Christine. Other than my brother, I've never confided in anyone my entire life." He poured them each a last glass of wine, finishing the bottle. "Come on, finish your wine, and then I'll take you home. It's getting late and we've got a lot of work to do starting tomorrow."

"Are you sure you don't want to go into the studio and begin work on the new CD now?" She teased. "I think this evening is the longest you've gone without working since I've known you."

"Tomorrow will be soon enough. Enjoy it while you can."

**A. N.:** Fluffy, but enjoy it while you can.... Thank you all so much for sticking with my story, and I'm especially grateful to my loyal reviewers. Just a line or two is really appreciated **coughhinthintcough**.


	23. Ch 22 Contract Redux

**Chapter 22**

**Contract Redux**

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

"Perfect, Christine. I think we got it this time," Erik told her from inside Shadow studio's control room. She saw the red recording light go out, and waited for Erik to emerge. Christine was relieved that Erik was finally satisfied with the track they had just recorded. It had been an exhausting three weeks, and as usual, Erik had been relentless working on their new project, although he seemed less volatile than before. There had been long and demanding rehearsals with the orchestra, the sessions to record the music, and finally, recording her voice over the orchestra's tracks.

She heard the buzz of his cell phone, and realized that he must have left the switch open on the microphone.

"What is it? Can it wait, I'm in the middle of something," she heard Erik bark at the unidentified caller. There was several minutes of silence as Erik apparently listened to whatever the caller had to say.

"How long do you think before they find me? It's important to me to finish this project I'm working on now."

Christine was embarrassed to be eavesdropping on Erik's conversation, but her curiosity was piqued. Erik's question about someone finding him had an ominous sound to it. After a fairly brief interlude, Erik spoke again, but much more angrily.

"Damn it, Micheil, I'm not going to abandon everything right now." Pause. "Let them come after me then." Another pause, then - "Yes, more important to me than my life."

Christine's heart was pounding when Erik finally left the control room and rejoined her in the studio. He could tell instantly that something was wrong.

"What's wrong, Christine? You look as if you're ready to faint."

"You left the mike open, Erik. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help it. Who were you talking to?" She could tell he was still angry from his conversation by the tightness in his jaw and the eerie light that flashed in his eyes.

"You heard that?"

"Yes, I couldn't avoid it." Even though Erik had been very demanding, they had worked together on her new CD better than they ever had. Christine hoped that it wasn't all getting ready to disintegrate over a stupid mistake on his part.

"Who were you talking to? Who is coming after you, Erik?" Christine realized with a flash of insight that this was somehow connected to "the unpleasant things" that Erik had referred to that night at dinner.

"Follow me," he said abruptly, taking her hand and pulling her after him. They left the recording studio and practically flew down the hall to the elevators. Erik dropped her hand upon entering the elevator and inserted his key next to the number of the floor of his private office. He was silent on the brief ride to his office, and Christine refrained from asking him any further questions.

Once they had reached the sanctity of Erik's private office, he motioned for her to take a seat, although he continued standing. He glared at her without speaking, but Christine was more concerned for him than frightened by his demeanor. "What's going on, Erik?" She asked him again.

He narrowed his eyes at her and she could tell he was weighing his response. "It was my brother, Christine. No one is coming after me, that was a figure of speech." As much as Erik hated lying to Christine, he refused to drag her into this unless he had to. Right now he didn't have to.

"It certainly didn't sound like you were using a figure of speech," Christine persisted. "You asked him how long before they found you."

He sighed. "We were only talking about some old business associates from Russia. Business I thought we had concluded many years ago, and I have no wish to talk to them about it again. That's why I don't want them to find me." He wasn't actually lying to her, only skating on the edge of the truth.

"When I hear that someone is 'coming after' you, that doesn't sound to me like they just want to talk to you. Is your life in danger, Erik?" Christine desperately wanted to believe what he was telling her, that it was just some old business of his, but deep down, she had always known there was much more to Erik and his past then he had let on. An aura of danger had always hovered around him.

"No, Christine, stop worrying. Everything will be fine. I want you to concentrate on finishing your new CD," he said in an attempt to change the subject. Christine wasn't fooled nor was she placated.

"What is more important to you than you life?"

Erik hesitated a moment before deciding to tell her the complete truth this time. "You. Your new CD, your career - all of these are more important to me than my life."

Christine was stunned. He had told her that he loved her, but she had no idea that his feelings, his devotion to her ran that deeply. She felt her own emotions rise as she protested his answer. "No, Erik. Nothing is worth that." She got up and walked over to him, although he took a step back, keeping a bit of distance between them.

"Christine, a career, a future is all that I can give you, and that is very important to me. Important enough to finish it before I take care of this other business." He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated that just as he was getting closer than ever to some measure of happiness, it was all about to be yanked away.

"A career is all you think you can give me?" She asked, incredulous. "What about yourself? You've got so much more to offer me than just a musical career. I do want a future, Erik, but I want it with you." That had slipped out, unbidden, and Christine had no idea where it had come from. She couldn't believe she had said it, but now that she had, she didn't regret it, nor would she take it back. And if possible, Erik looked more miserable after her admission than he had before. She was going to give up ever trying to figure him out.

"Christine, I think you may be fond of me, and I am eternally grateful for that. It is a thousand times more than I ever thought I'd have from you. But..."

"Fond? You think I'm fond of you? Who uses the word fond anyway? I'm fond of puppies for crying out loud, but that's not how I would describe my feelings..."

Erik gently placed a finger on her lips, stopping her protest mid-sentence.

"You're young; you're beautiful; you deserve so much more than what I can give you. You've been through a lot, losing your father and then your boyfriend. But in time, you'll get over your losses and you'll find the right person." He started to turn away from her, but Christine grabbed his arm and stopped him mid-stride.

"Is it so impossible for you to believe that I might have found the right person? That maybe you are the right person?"

The anguish that flashed across Erik's face was gut wrenching to see. "I could never do that to you, Christine. I'm not fit to live with."

He practically spat the last sentence and Christine was reminded of something her psych professor in college had said, "You can't give away what you don't have." Erik had absolutely no love for himself, and therefore believed himself unlovable and unworthy of a relationship. Christine felt like crying in frustration, but she realized that arguing with him would be fruitless. Given enough time, she might be able to convince him, to show him that he was indeed a valuable human being, worthy of her love, but that was her big concern now - he had spoken of 'abandoning everything'. How much time did she have?

"What are you going to do then?" She asked more calmly than she felt.

He paced around until he was standing behind his large teak desk, and when he looked up at her, he was almost smiling. "Why, finish recording a CD that is going to make Christine Davis a super star," he said. "I've got a meeting tomorrow though - why don't you take some time off and meet me back here the day after?"

Christine nodded her agreement and tried to return Erik's smile, but failed. She couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gripped her, and the certain knowledge that she was about to lose another loved one.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Geoffrey Riggs was extremely curious as to what he was doing in the wilds of Western Canada at a seldom used ski lodge of Erik's. He and Erik had flown out on Erik's private jet that morning and then had taken a helicopter to the lodge. Most of Erik's residences had a helipad either on the roof of the building or on the property itself. This greatly reduced the necessity of Erik's having to use public transportation or facilities, which he detested.

Geoffrey estimated that they were probably an hour or so from Banff by four wheel drive, not that he would want to make that drive in these mountains and with all of this snow. No, he was strictly a city boy, used to the amenities and conveniences major metropolitan areas offered.

He stopped his musing and waited as Erik entered the room from his inspection of the property. Geoffrey knew that the place would have already been swept for bugs by one of Erik's teams of experts before their arrival.

"Have a seat, Geoffrey." Erik gestured toward a piece of rustic, comfortable looking furniture. "Would you care for a drink?"

"Just some V-8 juice if you have it." Geoffrey didn't fail to notice the almost imperceptible look of approval from Erik when he didn't request alcohol.

Erik retrieved the juice from the stocked bar and sat down opposite Geoffrey. Typical of Erik, he didn't waste time on pleasantries or small talk, but went to the heart of the matter. "You know that I've had you transferring many of my assets to various untraceable offshore accounts."

Geoffrey felt his heart beat increase a bit. He had been moving Erik's assets, indeed by now, the bulk of Erik's assets, offshore for the past nine months. He had grown increasingly nervous, not to mention curious, as to the reason for the move. Whatever it was, Geoffrey was quite sure that it wouldn't bode well for him or his extremely lucrative position as CEO of Shadow Entertainment. He couldn't complain though, Erik had always been very generous to him, and he had socked away enough money for a hundred very comfortable retirements.

"You also know that during this same time period, our sources have kept us apprised of some very suspicious, and persistent, inquiries into the my companies and my identity. My brother's surveillance has confirmed it. This isn't just a coincidence. I'm afraid that my past has finally caught up with me. Pity, as for the first time in my life, I may have actually found happiness." Erik gave a hollow, chilling laugh which made Geoffrey's blood run cold.

Geoffrey had never heard the whole story of Erik's past. He had learned that it was very dangerous to ask about it, or to even allude to it. He had pieced some things together over the years, but certainly not all of it. He gave Erik his complete attention.

"I brought you out here because I wanted to be assured of total privacy and security. This was the safest place that I could think of on short notice. I want you to draw up a contract for me."

The complete change of direction by Erik took Geoffrey by surprise but he didn't show it. Instead he asked, "That's all? That's why you brought me out here? Erik, we could have done this in Toronto."

"No, that's not all." Erik stated coldly, irritated at being questioned. "There's more, quite a bit more. Before I continue, I need to know that I can trust you implicitly, Geoffrey. I always have been able to in the past, but this is much more important than anything we've ever faced."

"You have my word, Erik. I swear to you on everything sacred and holy that I would never betray you." Geoffrey's eyes never wavered as they met Erik's eerie stare. While a ruthless and brilliant businessman, Geoffrey had always been extremely loyal to Erik. Indeed, he had gotten where he was today by keeping his mouth shut and by proving himself completely trustworthy. Of course, he didn't want to contemplate the price of failure.

"The people after me won't be stopped. I had hoped that they were simply free-lancers, bounty hunters, but after months of intelligence, I'm afraid that they have been sent by the Russian underworld to kill me." Another chilling laugh, "That is probably too optimistic. I'm sure their orders are to return me to Moscow so that they can extract their vengeance on me there."

Geoffrey's curiosity kicked into overdrive, but he knew better than to ask for details; Erik would tell him as much as he needed to know, and not a syllable more. Over the years, Geoffrey had learned enough of Erik's past to know that the KGB as well as the Russian mafia figured prominently.

"First the contract. I'm selling you Shadow Entertainment for a dollar. There will be enough capital in its bank accounts to fund it for a year. After that, you're on your own. I also want an irrevocable trust established for Operation Mend at U.C.L.A. Draw up the documents and have them on my desk for my approval when we return."

Geoffrey was stunned by the news. "Erik that is extremely generous and I'm grateful, but what about you? What will you do?"

"I've got to stop these people once and for all." He leaned forward slightly, his golden eyes boring into Geoffrey's. "Pay close attention; there can be no mistakes."

Geoffrey listened intently as Erik outlined his plan, interrupting only twice to clarify key points. When Erik had finished, Geoffrey sat for several minutes, not saying anything, analyzing the details of Erik's plan in his mind. "I think it should work Erik, if this is truly what you want to do. What about Christine though – will you tell her?"

"No. I hate to put her through it, especially after she's had to deal with..." Erik paused, unwilling to say the name. "...her fiancé. But it will be safer for her to know nothing."

"Erik that is cruel, even for you. You must let me tell her before then."

"No. She'll get over it soon enough. In the meantime, you will obey my orders."


	24. Ch 23 The Duet

**Chapter 23**

**The Duet**

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

After returning to Toronto, Erik placed a call to his brother Micheil. He knew that he had been short and angry with Micheil when they had spoken the day before, likely due to his unwillingness to face the growing necessity of having to leave Christine.

"What have you found out? Anything new?" He asked his brother, holding out a shred of hope for some sort of a reprieve.

"Hello, Erik. Yes there's some news, none of it good though. Volchok had a son-in-law killed last week. Or more precisely, his son-in-law met with an untimely accident and was killed. This guy was the main contender to take Volchok's place as head of the organization. If that had happened, you might have been in the clear as I doubt he would have worried about continuing the search for you just to settle his father-in-law's old scores." Micheil waited for Erik's response and when none was forthcoming, he continued.

"Volchok was also a guest at General Domaslav's estate recently. Since we were there months ago and planted several listening devices, we were able to pick up some of their conversations. Like I tried to tell you the other day, you pig headed s.o.b., Volchok seemed to indicate that he had found whatever it was he was looking for. Bragging about it to Domaslav actually."

"That could be anything," Erik argued. "What makes you so sure they're talking about me?"

"Because it was obvious from the conversations that Domaslav is being cut into some big payoff for aiding Volchok on something they have a common interest in, and one of your aliases was mentioned more than once. Trust me little brother, it's you." Even though they were often at each others' throats, Micheil felt sorry for Erik, that he would have to go into hiding and leave behind everything he had built. He briefly wondered if Erik had made it yet with the young singer, but knowing his brother, he doubted it.

"You'll be happy to hear that I've put the plan into motion. I'll be ready to execute it in two weeks," Erik told him.

"What in the hell do you need two weeks for, Erik? The sooner you do this, the sooner you can quit looking over your shoulder." So it was the little blond singer.

"I'm working on a project that I want to get finished first. Two weeks should take care of it. It will also give me time to tie up any loose ends and to put the finishing touches on our plan."

"Two weeks then, and not one day more. I'll be taking care of my end of it from here."

Erik switched off his cell and got ready to go to the recording studio. The countdown had begun.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Christine was already in the recording studio when Erik arrived at Shadow's headquarters, deeply engrossed in playing a song on the keyboard that Erik had never heard before.

"What's that you're playing, Christine?" She jumped at his voice and immediately stopped playing.

"You're back," she observed.

"It would appear so. Why? Didn't you think I would be?"

She didn't answer his question, but narrowed her eyes as she studied him. "I've written a new song. It's something I've been working on for a while and I finished it while you were gone." She made a last few changes on the sheet music and handed it to Erik. "What do you think?"

Erik took the sheet of music from her and studied it. "It's a duet," he said, surprised. "What are you going to do with it?"

"I want to use it on the new CD. There's been something missing, something that I couldn't quite put my finger on. But when I thought about it, I realized that there wasn't one song that jumped out at me as a standout single. I wanted something with more passion."

"You're a music producer now?" Erik asked archly.

Christine flashed a grin. "If the shoe fits..."

Erik read over the composition again, hearing it in his mind. "This is good, Christine, really good. You've harnessed your pain and used it to enhance your art."

Christine felt herself blush and grow warm from what was effusive praise from Erik. "Thanks, Erik. That means a lot coming from you."

"It's still a duet though; who did you have in mind to sing it with you?"

Christine didn't answer; she simply stared at him intently until he finally understood what she was driving at.

"NO! Absolutely not. I'm finished performing," Erik answered vehemently.

"Erik, first of all you wouldn't be performing. You will simply be recording. And secondly, I figured you'd feel this way, but why can't we put you on the album as an anonymous studio musician? It's done all of the time with backup singers and musicians." Christine held her breath and waited.

Erik pretended to study the piece again, but in his mind's eye he was seeing Christine's lovely face and the hope in her eyes. What could it hurt now, especially in light of the plan he was getting ready to execute. This was the least he could do for her and the song was good. "All right, Christine. I'll sing your duet."

Christine threw her arms around him in a hug of gratitude. She felt Erik stiffen at first, before finally relenting and returning the embrace.

"Thank you," she said, smiling up at him.

"I don't know how I let you talk me into this, but let's get to work on it," he said, retreating from the intimacy and returning to the subject of the duet.

"I'd like to enhance the orchestration, maybe change the key for..." Erik stopped, his eyes narrowing as he absorbed the lyrics for the male part.

"Christine, what is this? These lyrics suggest that he sees love as a deluge, something dangerous and frightening. Were they written for me? Is this how you think I feel?"

The part Erik was referring to was written as a point - counterpoint, with the two vocal parts building dramatically. The male lines indeed argued against the emotion while the female responded with assurance that love was nurturing, sustaining and uplifting.

"Don't you?" She challenged.

"I'm not afraid, it's just..." he trailed off. Hell, he probably was afraid. He had never lost his heart before and he hated the loss of control. He was also unable to give her his other reasons and he didn't want to condescend with excuses.

"Just what? I'd like to know. You've avoided any conversation on the subject just as you avoid getting close to me. I don't understand what the problem is then if you're not afraid of getting hurt."

"You don't know me, Christine; you don't know my past..."

"Then tell me," she interrupted. "Don't you see, I want to know more about you, because I think I love what I do know."

"I could tell you things that would make you hate me."

"I doubt that," she returned.

"Trust me, Christine, I could."

"You don't trust me," she exclaimed, frustrated as usual with his stonewalling. "How can you say you love me when you don't trust me?"

"I don't trust anyone, Christine. Not just you." He answered coldly, but then stopped and took a deep breath, realizing that he was probably hurting her, which was the last thing he wanted to do. He hadn't meant for the conversation about a song to take such a dramatic turn, and he certainly had no intention of telling her the very things she insisted on knowing.

"Christine, in time you'll meet another handsome young man who will be deserving of you, and you'll forget all about me."

"Don't patronize me, Erik," she said, irritated by his assumption. "I'm not a child, nor am I Cinderella waiting for her prince." Even while knowing it was futile, Christine couldn't help telling him how she felt.

"I suppose Raoul was handsome, but that's not why I loved him. I loved him because he was a good person and he was also smart. I love you because you're brilliant and talented, and I find you fascinating," she told him. "Also difficult and moody, but I try not to hold that against you," she finished in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Erik took a step toward her, and gently moved a strand of hair off of her face. How he wished he could stay here in Toronto with her. He almost believed her, almost believed that she could actually love him. Foolish to think this way. He had to see the plan through; there was no alternative. Staying now would only endanger Christine as well as himself.

"I didn't mean to patronize you, Christine. Please forgive me." He reached out again, tenderly cupping her cheek in his hand. She responded by leaning into it, closing her eyes and placing her own hand over his. He allowed it briefly before breaking the contact, and becoming business like once again.

"Come, we need to finish recording your album, and I want to get it edited and mixed before you leave for your European dates," he told her. Expanded Edge was scheduled to play a limited tour of six European capitols after the extended break following their American tour.

"That's in less than two weeks. Can we get it done that quickly?" She asked, well aware that he had managed to change the subject.

"We must. I leave for Europe then as well - the business that you heard me refer to on the phone." He watched the disappointment register on her face and was moved by it.

"How long will you be there?" She was fishing for a clue to his itinerary, and all the while hoping against hope that his talk about abandoning everything was just that - talk.

"I will have finished with my business before you even return from the tour," he told her, evading the real answer.

"Good, I'm glad." Christine was relieved by his answer, not realizing that Erik had failed to answer her question. There was so much more she wanted to ask him, but knowing it was impossible, she sat back down at the keyboard and began to play the duet, letting Erik's beautiful voice quiet her doubts and fears.

They rehearsed and recorded the duet for four days before they were both satisfied with the result. Erik had elaborated upon Christine's orchestration until the music was lush and moving, and with the combination of their powerful, soaring vocals, the song surpassed even Christine's expectations. She recorded two additional songs that week to finish off the CD, but after the heightened emotion of recording the duet with Erik, they seemed like child's play in comparison.

Erik worked almost around the clock for the next few days editing and mixing the CD, refusing to let Shadow's mixing engineers any where near Christine's music. When it was finished, even he declared it the best release in Shadow Entertainment's history.

**A.N.** I hope everyone is having an enjoyable, but safe, holiday weekend. You know what to do to make _mine_ happy... *shameless begging*


	25. Ch 24 BBC News

**A. N. **Fasten your seat belts everyone... and please, please leave me a word as to what you think. You know how happy it makes me. Although I doubt you'll be happy with me after this chapter...

**Chapter 24**

**BBC News**

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Erik moved silently past the open bedroom door and listened to the even, rhythmic breathing of the sleeping Volchok and his wife. He mentally cursed his own stubborn insistence at making the raid himself. Micheil had argued vehemently against it, saying it was far too dangerous for Erik to undertake personally, especially knowing as they did that Volchok and Domaslav were actively hunting him. He had allowed Micheil's men to proceed him to disable the security system, which had been surprisingly basic and out-dated. He was glad now that they had also provided him with the layout of Volchok's cramped apartment, making it somewhat easier to navigate the tiny rooms and narrow hall. Volchok lived simply in the same apartment he and his wife had occupied since their marriage, and before his rise to power in the Russian mafia. He chose not to flaunt his wealth, although Erik knew of at least two large estates that he owned far beyond the prying eyes of Moscow.

Though he hated to admit it, Erik was feeling the effects of fatigue that night, having spent the previous two weeks playing a cat and mouse game across Europe with his pursuers, strategically picking the times and places to be seen. Wearing identical clothing including the telltale mask, he and Micheil had, on more than one occasion, made it appear as if he was in two places at once by registering in hotels in different cities under Erik's name. He had also been in and out of Moscow a couple of times, going so far as to flagrantly meet with an old friend whom he knew to be an enemy of Volchok.

Stealing from Volchok had originally been Micheil's idea, although Erik doubted the mobster kept much of value in the modest Moscow apartment, and besides, both he and Volchok were wealthy enough that gaining or losing monetarily meant little more than the principle. However, the surveillance photos had revealed a glass display case hung in a prominent place in the living room, and Erik felt sure that he knew what it contained.

He was halfway across the room to his objective when he heard the bedsprings creak as someone shifted and moved. Erik froze, praying that the Volchoks would remain asleep. A moment later, he heard footsteps shuffling out into the hall and knew his prayer wasn't going to be answered. Soundlessly, he flattened himself against the wall, partially hidden by a large china cabinet.

He heard someone use the lavatory, run water, and then silence. A moment later, the door to the small bathroom opened, briefly spilling light out into the hall. Footsteps started in his direction, and hardly daring to breathe, Erik grasped the lasso hidden inside of his jacket, ready in case whoever it was decided to come past him into the kitchen. He cursed his luck; he didn't want this to turn into a bloody confrontation. Erik's purpose was purely intimidation, to throw down enough of a challenge to force Volchok come after him personally.

After what seemed like eternity to Erik, the nocturnal Volchok changed his mind and decided to return to bed. Erik held his position for almost another hour until he was sure that the pair was sleeping soundly again.

The display case wasn't locked, and Erik risked turning on a small penlight to examine its contents and confirm his theory. A bonanza as far as his plan was concerned as it held Volchok's military medals. Quickly grabbing the three that would mean the most to Volchok, he carefully wrapped them in a handkerchief and stowed them in an inner, zipped pocket of his jacket for safe keeping. Before shutting the display case and disappearing down the fire escape, Erik removed the mask from his face and carefully placed it where the medals had rested.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Christine exited the House of Guerlain and strolled down the Champs Elysees, on her way to meet up with Kevin at one of the several picturesque cafes found on the famous Parisian avenue. She had treated herself to a bottle of one of Guerlain's iconic perfumes as well as one of their newer offerings, still unable to believe that she no longer had to worry about money and pinching pennies. Between the inheritance from Raoul, and what she now earned with Expanded Edge, Christine was wealthier than she ever dreamed she'd be.

Paris was the third stop of the European tour following London and Amsterdam, and Expanded Edge's concert the night before had been hugely successful. Christine was only sorry that she hadn't been able to talk to Erik about it. In fact, she hadn't spoken with him at all since she'd arrived in Europe; she could only assume that the business he had alluded to must be keeping him tied up. Still, there was a part of her that hoped that she would get to see him while they were both in Europe.

She entered the busy cafe, and not seeing Kevin yet, she found a table and on a whim, decided to try Erik's cell while she waited. While Erik and Raoul were as different as night and day, her feelings for Erik had grown steadily over the past year. Now that she realized and accepted how she felt about him, she prayed that he would also be able to accept being loved. So far, he had done a pretty good job at keeping her at arm's length, and she knew she would have to work at overcoming his insecurities and past traumas.

Christine was jolted from her reverie by the obnoxious beep that preceded the recorded announcement, "The number you have called is no longer a working number. If you feel that you have reached..." She ended the call, shaking her head at her inattention while dialing and tried again. Once again, the loud beep sounded, signaling the same recording, but Christine quickly turned it off. She felt tendrils of fear curling around her heart as she thought about what she had overheard of Erik's conversation with his brother - the question about someone finding him, of not wanting to abandon everything. Dear God, had he been found by whomever was looking for him? Or, had he fled ahead of them, abandoning everything as his brother had evidently suggested he do that day on the phone? Christine was suddenly sick with worry considering the equally horrible alternatives.

She jumped when she felt a hand on her back as Kevin leaned down and placed an affectionate kiss on the top of her head before taking his seat.

"What's wrong, babe? It's not like you to be so jumpy and you look pretty upset for someone who's just performed three sold out concerts," he asked, looking concerned.

Although Kevin knew of her growing relationship with Erik, Christine was hesitant to talk to him about Erik's whereabouts, especially given the current situation. Added to that, they were in a very public place, so she tried to play it off.

"Oh, it's nothing - just a bit lonesome. I haven't heard from Erik in a while and I miss the cantankerous old grouch," she kidded in an effort avoid Kevin's questions.

Kevin narrowed his eyes, appraising her. He wasn't convinced by her performance, but he knew Christine would open up to him when she was ready.

"I don't know him well, Christine, but I do know the guy is crazy about you," Kevin told her. "He's awfully intense; he' probably just wrapped up in a project and forgotten to eat, sleep or call you."

"You're probably right," she agreed with a smile, although Kevin noticed that it didn't quite reach her eyes. He was silent while the waiter set down their coffees, a cream pitcher and a basket of croissants.

"I have an idea," he said enthusiastically when the waiter had left, "Since this is our last night in Paris, why don't we get everyone together and go out on the town for a five-star meal? Our flight to Munich isn't until almost lunchtime, so you can sleep in in the morning."

Christine appreciated Kevin's concern and his attempt to cheer her up, but she wasn't sure she was up for an evening of socializing with the band in her current state of mind.

Kevin immediately saw the indecision in her eyes, and renewed his effort. "Come on Christine, it will do you good to get out. How often are we in Paris? Besides, if you're worried about not hearing from Erik, I can tell you this: that man is probably better equipped to take care of himself than anyone I know, so go relax and enjoy yourself."

Realizing that Kevin was probably right and if nothing else, going out might help to keep her mind off of the situation, Christine agreed to go.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Erik pulled off of the rutted farm road and slid the small car into the ancient stone and timber barn. He had driven non-stop for almost two days from Moscow to this location about 48 kilometers outside of Vienna, changing vehicles and his identity three different times along the way. He laid his head against his forearm on the steering wheel in exhaustion, allowing himself a brief few minutes of rest.

He was meeting Josef Moser here just after sunset. The caretaker of his apartment in Vienna, Josef would play a much more important role now as the bomb expert on the team. It had been Josef who had suggested the unused farm for their meeting. The location was perfect as it was both secluded and had no connection with either Erik or any of his associates or employees, making it virtually untraceable. This was Erik's final stop before moving on to Germany to set the stage for his showdown with Volchok and he didn't want any surprises or ambushes until he was ready to be found.

When he wasn't running through the myriad details of the plan while he drove, his mind had drifted time and time again to Christine. She was the main reason he had decided to run, as by staying, he would have endangered her life as well, and he wasn't willing to take that risk. It had broken his heart to hurl his cell phone, the one for which she had the number, off of a bridge, thus severing his last link with her. The number of the disposable phone he now carried was known by only three individuals - his brother, Josef and one other man on the team.

Erik forced himself out of his reverie and left the car to do a quick reconnaissance of the small farm and the surrounding woods before taking up a position that allowed him an unobstructed view of both the farm lane and the country road leading to it. He hadn't waited more than ten minutes when he spotted a lone figure walking down the road and turn onto the farm lane. Erik waited until Josef was almost upon him before stepping out to reveal himself.

"You didn't walk all the way from Vienna, did you Josef?" He asked incredulously.

Josef shook his head. "No, I took the bus to a village about eight kilometers south of here and then walked back. You said to make sure I wasn't followed."

"Good man. Come - the car is hidden in the barn, we'll wait there until it is fully dark before leaving. I'll brief you on what kind of explosion we need, and you can decide how you want to accomplish it." Skirting the perimeter of the farm and blending into the lengthening shadows, Erik and Josef returned to the old barn.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Christine flopped down on one of the love seats in the sitting room of her suite and pulled off her boots. She was tired after three hard weeks on the road, and it was already after two in the morning, but it had been a great performance. She felt that she was singing better than ever, and from the reaction of the crowd tonight, they agreed with her. After the concert tonight in Rome, she had gone out with her band to get something to eat and to relax. That was the best part of playing Europe – restaurants, bars and clubs stayed open much later than they did in the States. She still hadn't heard from Erik and she continued to miss and worry about him, but Kevin had been a steadfast friend, and had done his best to allay her fears.

She stretched her legs out and put her bare feet up on the coffee table in front of her, clicking on the television in the hope of finding an old Cary Grant movie playing on satellite, although she'd settle for Fred Astaire. She had mindlessly flipped through dozens of channels without luck when she caught the tale end of a late breaking BBC News report that made her finger pause on the remote, "...entertainment mogul Erik Remondet, after the break."

What in the world was that about, Christine wondered, bolting upright. Erik was never on television, never in the news. He avoided publicity with a single minded determination that was astonishing in its ferocity. With impatience and panic building in equal measures, Christine had to wait through commercials for a jeweler, frozen food, two different drugs, a wireless service, a luxury SUV, and bathroom cleaner. Finally the newscaster reappeared, this time with a shot behind him from the grainy video of Erik on stage taken in the instant that Devon Rhine's friend Mark had shone a spotlight on him.

"Reuters News Service confirmed tonight that the three bodies found last week in the burned out residence of entertainment mogul, Erik Remondet, located just outside of Amberg, Germany, have now been positively identified. One is the body of Remondet himself, and the other two men are known Russian underworld figures, Andrei Georgiev Volchok and a son, Dimitri. The house suffered extensive damage due to a massive explosion and subsequent fire causing the delay in identification of the bodies. Volchok and his son were identified through DNA testing while Remondet was positively identified from dental records. No word yet on why Remondet was meeting with the Russian men. FSB headquarters in Moscow has issued a 'no comment' statement while it conducts its own investigation into the incident. Geoffrey Riggs, CEO of the conglomerate, Shadow Entertainment, with which Redmondet may have been connected, said a statement would be forthcoming in the next day or so. In other news tonight..."

Christine managed to hit the power switch on the remote, but it felt like her entire body had shut down with it. She didn't know how long she sat there, numb and disbelieving. There had been a fire and explosion in one of Erik's houses a week ago and Geoffrey hadn't called her? Geoffrey's concern obviously had been only for the sold out concert tour, the mercenary bastard. Oh God! So this is why she hadn't heard from Erik since she'd been in Europe. Her worst fears of the past few weeks had just been confirmed. She had known all along that even if he was extremely busy, Erik would have found some way to contact her on tour, if only to send his signature ivory rose. With that thought, Christine's emotions finally burst the dam, and she sobbed uncontrollably, her world shattered irreparably.


	26. Ch 25 A Plan Comes Together

**Chapter 25**

**A Plan Comes Together**

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Erik hit the button on the remote and turned off the television, the corner of his mouth lifting briefly into a sardonic smile.

"Mr. Twain, we now have something in common. The report of my death has been exaggerated as well."

He raised his glass of wine in a mock toast, but sobered immediately when he thought about the effect this report would have on Christine. He hadn't told her his plan to fake his own death; he hadn't wanted to put her at risk in case they somehow knew about her and his relationship with her. But he had stressed to her their last night together that he would be gone for a few weeks on extremely sensitive business, and to believe nothing that she heard about him in the press. Nothing. He worried now that that may have been easier said than done. He was torn between begging her to come and make a life with him here, and believing that she only needed him because she was still reeling from the losses of her father and her boyfriend. Despite her protestations, he was pretty sure that he was little more than a stand-in father figure to her, and given time, she would find a more suitable partner. But he already missed her terribly, and the solitude that had rarely bothered him now loomed like a dark cavern before him.

His worry about Christine notwithstanding, it had gone extremely well, better than he could have hoped for. With his far-reaching connections, it hadn't been too difficult to find a relatively fresh corpse that matched his build and which had excellent teeth. The teeth had been the key to the success, as Erik then had had a highly skilled dental surgeon replicate his dental work. The corpse had then been flown to the Nuremburg airport aboard Erik's private jet, packed under hundreds of pounds of fresh seafood on ice. From there, two trusted members of his team had transported Erik and the container in a large SUV the hour drive to Erik's residence.

Erik had left a trail for Volchok and his men that shouldn't have been too difficult to follow, without his being considered sloppy or lax. He knew that if he had made it too easy for them to find him, they might suspect a trap, and that wouldn't do at all. He had sent the caretaker of the place and his wife on a week long holiday to Greece as he had wanted them well away from the property when the confrontation with the Russians took place. The "staff" now consisted of four highly skilled ex-agents, to be used as emergency backup in case something went wrong with his original plan. Otherwise, they were to simply pose as household staff. The star of the show, the corpse, had been dressed in Erik's clothes and placed in his office at his desk, with the chair swiveled so that it faced away from the door and the windows.

Erik had staked out a vantage point on a high piece of ground from which he could watch all approaches to the property. On the evening of his second day of watching, he spotted movement in the copse of trees that bordered the western edge of the lawns. He knew that his attackers would probably wait there and attack sometime during the middle of the night. He only prayed that Volchok had come for him personally so that he would finally be able to quit running.

As the evening progressed, he watched as first one, then another, then the last two lights in the staff wing were finally extinguished. He had to wait an additional three hours before his night vision goggles detected movement on the roof of the large house. Once the Russians had entered the house, Erik signaled his team within to exit via the underground tunnels, left over from the second World War. Craig, the head of the group, signaled him back when it was time to detonate the explosives.

Josef had wired the Russian made explosives to a disposable cell phone, set to detonate on cell phone signal, making it appear as if the intruders had blown themselves, and Erik, up with a premature explosion. Erik had made sure that the explosion would be big enough to start a huge conflagration, leaving as little identifying evidence as possible.

He slowly ate a candy bar as he watched the house burn. Situated in the Bavarian countryside with the nearest town, the ancient village of Amberg, about thirty minutes away, he let it burn for almost an hour before he called in the alarm. By then of course it was too late to save the entire east wing of the grand old house. He had hated that.

Erik poured himself another glass of wine and looked out over sparkling waters of the Persian Gulf from his 37th floor vantage point. He had purchased the luxury penthouse in the Dubai Marina Towers under his new identity, figuring that in a country welcoming 25,000 people every month – many of them as wealthy as he – he would be just another eccentric billionaire.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Christine closed her eyes and concentrated on trying to feel the early spring sun on her face as she waited for Geoffrey to disengage himself from the group of people that surrounded him. The small, private memorial service for Erik had just ended, and thankfully, Christine had remained dry eyed throughout the entire service. She knew that if she ever started to cry, she would never be able to stop. Therefore, she was only postponing the inevitable.

She and the rest of the band had returned to Toronto immediately upon hearing the news of Erik's death, flying home in a private jet belonging to Shadow Entertainment. Christine remembered nothing of the flight home; she had been almost catatonic with grief. Kevin had held her tightly, rocking her ever so gently and murmuring soothing words to her. She wasn't sure why her grief for Erik was so much more painful than what she had experienced when Raoul died. Perhaps the effects of grief were cumulative, each loss building on the one before. Or perhaps it was that she had been more deeply connected to Erik through their music. Or perhaps it was a combination of the two. Whatever the reason, she was shattered by Erik's death, and once they had landed, Geoffrey had taken one look at her and had ordered her to be sent to a private clinic for rest and evaluation.

They had kept her for five days, finally sending her home with a prescription for an anti-depressant along with a prescription for something to help her sleep. She had flushed both of them down the toilet, knowing that for her, she was going to have to sit with her grief, working her way through the suffocating pain in order to find peace again.

She had become almost obsessive-compulsive about listening to her duet with Erik, which was on a constant replay loop on her iPod. She lost herself in his beautiful voice, mourning what she had lost. His voice communicated raw emotion, the pain almost palpable, which had surprised her. She had known that Erik had his demons, but had that well of pain always been there and how had she not noticed it?

It had now been almost three weeks since Erik's death and the speculation in the news had dried up for the most part - the twenty-four hour news channels having moved on to the latest breaking story - so it hadn't been difficult to keep the date and time of the service out of the press. None of the label's stars had been invited, mainly to avoid the publicity that would entail, so the only attendees were representative upper level suits from Shadow and Erik's other companies along with their spouses. And Christine. She doubted if any of the people there, except Geoffrey, knew of her relationship with Erik, which explained their curious stares at her attendance. It occurred to her to wonder if Erik's brother was among them, although since she had never met him, she had no idea what he looked like. Maybe he was like Erik, and hated being seen in public.

Christine had been surprised when Geoffrey had stopped her after the service and had told her that if she wouldn't mind waiting until he was finished, he would take her back to her apartment in his limousine. She had always had a good working relationship with Geoffrey, but she knew that that was in large part because of her relationship with Erik. It also didn't hurt that she was now making the company quite a lot of money.

"I knew that horses could sleep standing up, but I've never seen a person do it," Geoffrey joked, startling Christine who hadn't heard him approach.

She tried to laugh, but felt the tears coming on, so she changed the subject instead. "I can almost feel spring in the air. It sure takes a long time coming up here, doesn't it?"

Geoffrey seemed to study her for a moment and then replied, "Yes, it does. I suppose that's why we Canadians love our winter sports so much; we have lots of time for them. Come on, here's the car. Get in." The driver opened their door, and Geoffrey stepped aside, motioning for her to get in.

"How are you doing, Christine? I've been worried about you." Geoffrey could tell she'd lost too much weight and her skin was pale and translucent. He understood that in case she was being watched by Erik's enemies, it was crucial for Christine to appear to be truly grieving, but Geoffrey had had no idea that Christine would take Erik's 'death' as hard as she had. He wondered if Erik was similarly as clueless to her feelings.

"Christine?" He prompted her when she failed to answer his question.

"I'm sorry Geoffrey. I was trying to think of how to answer you. Gutted. Yes, I think that's the word I was searching for - gutted." She fell silent and stared unseeing out the window.

Geoffrey shook his head; he had no answer for her heart wrenching reply so he fell back on the standard questions of concern. "Do you need anything, Christine? Anything we can do for you?"

"No, Geoffrey, thanks. Brooke and Lindsey have taken turns staying with me, and they're doing all that can be done for me. Natalia is planning on flying out in a week or so to stay with me for a while. But I appreciate your concern." She gave him a wan smile, which only managed to make her look sadder and more pitiable in Geoffrey's view.

"Look, Christine, why don't we postpone the release of your solo CD for a couple of months?" he offered. "Take some time off, relax, take some time for yourself before you have to start making promotional appearances and touring again."

"No!" She returned emphatically. "This was our project together. Erik's dream for me..." Christine trailed off, her throat closing with emotion.

"All right; it's up to you though. Just say the word."

The limousine pulled to a stop directly in front of Christine's building, and Geoffrey helped her to get out while the chauffeur held the door for them. On the way up to her door, he thought about how much he could safely say to her to ease her suffering, and ultimately concluded - not much. He took her keys from her and opened the door to her apartment, locking it behind them before he continued.

"Christine, do you remember Erik's instructions to you before he left?" Geoffrey prodded.

Christine closed her eyes, searching her memory, but coming up blank. "No, not really. All I remember is being concerned that something like this would happen, and I'd never see him again." Her blue eyes again welled with tears.

"He told me that he cautioned you not to believe anything that the media said about him. Do you remember that?"

She nodded dumbly, not understanding what Geoffrey was driving at.

"Please try, Christine. Do not believe the news stories."

"But... what are you saying? It hasn't sounded like they really know..."

Geoffrey quickly put his finger to her lips, stopping her in mid-sentence. He had spent enough time in Erik's company to be well aware of listening devices, and he didn't want to be the one to undo all of the hard work that had gone into Erik's plan.

"Just remember his instructions," he told her softly. "I'll be in touch in a few days. Until then, try to get some rest."

"I'll try. Thank you Geoffrey - for everything." She gave him a quizzical look, wondering what he had been trying to tell her, but too weary to push him further.

He hugged her goodbye, wishing there was more he could do, and feeling guilty for being a part of a plan that had wounded her so deeply. It made him sick that Erik had put this beautiful young woman through something so traumatic. He wondered what, if anything, Erik would have done differently had he known the depth of Christine's feelings for him. Perhaps nothing. The man was a musical genius with a brilliant business mind, but he had the emotional maturity of a fourth grader. Geoffrey made up his mind to that he had to try to do something to help her.

Christine locked the door behind him, grateful to finally be alone. After changing into comfortable clothes, she stretched out on the sofa, and pushed play on her iPod.


	27. Ch 26 Suspension of Disbelief

**Chapter 26**

**Suspension of Disbelief**

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Geoffrey still couldn't make himself move into what he considered to be Erik's office - the private suite on the top floor. Switching the lights on in the reception area, he realized that it was still early and it would be at least another hour before Shay arrived. He moved across the thick carpet to his old office and unlocked the door.

"Good morning, Riggs. Glad you're an early riser."

Geoffrey almost jumped out of his skin and his heart hammered in his chest.

"Damn it, Micheil! You scared the crap out of me." What a way to start a morning, Geoffrey thought with irritation. He had been considering calling Micheil to run some ideas by him for helping Christine and Erik, and to ask for his help, but hadn't yet decided if it was wise. Discretion was usually the better part of valor when dealing with the two brothers Geoffrey had learned.

"How in the hell did you get in here anyway?" He asked the smirking Micheil.

"You don't need to worry - this place is actually very secure. I ought to know; I designed the security for Erik."

"So what are you doing here - testing it?"

Micheil chuckled. "No, Riggs. I wanted to ask you about Erik's little songbird."

"Christine Davis? What about her?" Geoffrey asked, wondering what Micheil knew about Christine and her relationship to Erik.

"Is Cry Me a River part of her repertoire, because she's certainly been doing plenty of that lately," Micheil informed Geoffrey. "Do you happen to know what she's so upset about?"

"How in the hell do you know Christine has been crying and upset?" Geoffrey asked, becoming concerned for his star now that Erik was no longer watching over her.

"My company has her under pretty tight guard and twenty-four hour surveillance. One of Erik's last requests as it were." Micheil supplied.

Geoffrey thought about what and how much to tell Micheil before deciding to tell him the truth.

"I don't know much - she's never really talked to me about their relationship, only begged me for a new phone number for Erik after he'd ditched the old one when he went underground. I do know that she's taken his "death" pretty hard. Much harder than I had anticipated." Erik would probably kill him if he ever found out that he had talked to Micheil about Christine.

"Thanks, Riggs. You've confirmed my suspicions. Knowing my pig headed brother, he'd never do anything about it, so I propose that we help the two love birds along."

Geoffrey raised his eyebrows in surprise. This was perfect - Micheil would be the one to take Erik's wrath if he didn't appreciate their interference. "What do you have in mind?"

"Simple. I'll take her to him. Disguised of course, in case anyone is watching her. I'll put a look alike in her apartment to keep anyone from becoming curious as to her whereabouts - your job is to keep the press away from her - while I whisk Christine out of the country."

Geoffrey had to admire the simplicity of the plan, although he worried about one major detail. "And what do you think Erik's reaction will be to Christine showing up on his doorstep?"

Micheil shrugged, obviously not concerned. "This is the first and only woman he's ever cared about. Erik is probably doing the 'poor, ugly me - I don't deserve her' routine. Trust me, he'll be thrilled to see her."

Geoffrey had to think that Micheil was right where Erik was concerned, although he never would have had the audacity to put it quite that way. He'd always thought that Erik had placed way too much emphasis on his face, and obviously, Christine had been able to see past it to the man inside. Good for her - she was not only supremely talented but wise as well.

"Give me a week to get the paperwork in order and to make the travel arrangements. Make sure she's packed and ready to go," Micheil said, moving to the door.

"What do you want me to tell her?" Geoffrey wondered.

"Tell her she's going to see the world's richest horse race - the Dubai World Cup." Micheil winked and was gone.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Erik sat at the grand piano in his state of the art music room/recording studio glaring at the keyboard. The only music in his head, the only voice he heard, was hers. Christine's music. Christine's voice. He had been trying to compose to get his mind off of her, but to no avail. Somewhere along the line she had changed him utterly. He no longer desired solitude, no longer cared to shun society and all of humanity. He found that he actually missed sparring with Geoffrey, missed his long phone conversations with Dr. Miller about the progress of his program and the men under his care, but most of all, he missed Christine. Missed their recording sessions and brainstorming over compositions with her. Missed her voice, her eyes, her laughter. He missed her.

More and more he thought about asking her to join him. How much worse would it be if he asked her and she turned him down? At least he would have tried; he wouldn't have taken the coward's way out. She had declared that she loved him. Should he put her to the test? She had certainly passed the test of being able to look at his unmasked face without flinching. Perhaps that was love.

Angrily, he pushed away from the instrument and paced back to the living room, restless. The bank of windows showed him a breathtaking view of the Gulf, littered with expensive yachts. He watched for a moment as a speck in the sky approached and grew larger until he could tell that it was a helicopter, coming in for a landing atop his building. This was not at all an unusual occurrence as many of the condominium owners were wealthy enough to own their own jets and helicopters.

Erik sighed heavily, thankful that no one was around to hear him give in to the ridiculous, melodramatic gesture. Whoever was arriving at the building that afternoon via helicopter, they certainly weren't coming to visit him. And worse, he couldn't go anywhere in his own jet, registered now to his newest reincarnation and waiting patiently in a hangar at the airport. He and Micheil had agreed that it would be safer if he lay low for several months just to make sure that the plan had indeed been successful. He felt like the proverbial prisoner in a gilded cage.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

Christine's knuckles were white from gripping the hand strap so tightly. She felt like she was bouncing around unprotected in space, hundreds of feet above the ocean. She tried to look anywhere but down but it was virtually impossible in the small helicopter. She glanced over at Erik's brother, who was calmly texting on his phone, seemingly oblivious to the noise and vibration of the machine in which they rode.

When Geoffrey had first told her of her destination barely a week ago, she had shrieked, "Dubai?" at practically the full volume of a voice capable of filling an arena. He had refused to answer any more of her questions, saying only that she needed to be ready to leave in a week. Christine had finally understood in a blinding revelation one night just before she fell asleep that this is what Erik had meant by not believing anything she heard in the media about him - he hadn't meant the wild speculation about his businesses and him personally, but the entire report of his death itself.

She had been understandably hurt and angry at having been deceived, but over the intervening week, she had calmed down considerably, realizing that Erik would only have pulled a stunt like this if his life had truly been in danger and he had no other option.

Christine had had a further shock when she opened her door the morning they were to depart to find not only Erik's brother, Micheil, whom she had never met, but also a fairly plump Middle Eastern woman with him. The shock had only deepened when the woman emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later looking thirty pounds lighter, her scrubbed face now several shades fairer, and carrying a black wig along with the clothing and extra padding she had just taken off. Christine found herself staring incredulously into the face of a woman who could be her own twin.

She gasped in surprise and turned to Micheil for an explanation.

"Christine, meet Gillian. She'll be staying here in your apartment in Toronto while you're gone. Geoffrey knows about this of course, and he'll keep the press away from her. This should nip in the bud any speculation as to your whereabouts."

He took the wig, the traditional clothing and the fat suit from Gillian and handed them to Christine. "Here, go put these on. As soon as you're dressed, Gillian will help you with the wig and make-up. We'll be traveling as husband and wife on passports from the United Arab Emirates." Speechless, Christine took the costume from Micheil and did as she was told.

Most of the trip had been quite comfortable even with the extra padding and swathed in the traditional dress of an Arab woman as they had flown in a private jet owned by the ruling family of Dubai. However, for the trip from the airport to to Erik's residence, they were crammed into a warm helicopter, and Christine was feeling claustrophobic and light-headed. She hoped they were going to land soon. To take her mind off of her distress, she tried to make conversation with Micheil.

"What did Erik say when he spoke with you about taking me to him?" She inquired.

An unreadable look passed over Micheil's face before he answered. "For security reasons, Christine, I haven't been in contact with Erik."

Christine gulped in shock. "He doesn't know I'm coming? Surely you know he doesn't like surprises. He may not even let us in."

Micheil laughed, thinking how he had broken into Erik's loft. "Don't worry, we'll get in. Trust me, I know my brother and I know he'll be glad to see you."

"Glad to see me? Surely you're not serious? He'll be glad to kill us both more likely!"

Micheil observed her silently for a moment, and Christine could see what almost looked like tenderness in his eyes. Micheil's eyes were a warmer brown than Erik's and not nearly as penetrating or as frightening.

He sighed and then spoke.

"Christine, everyone in Erik's life, and I do mean everyone with the exception of me, has hated and despised him. Even our own parents. He has been abused, tortured, and ridiculed. He's never had a relationship of any kind with a human being that didn't involve pain and suffering. Until you. So it is understandable that he's run from a relationship with you, even though I suspect he loves you. As brave and as unflinching as he can be in the face of overwhelming odds and even pain and torture - and believe me, I've seen him do it - he is terrified of the pain of a relationship with you." Micheil paused and looked out the window, deep in thought, before he turned back to her and continued.

"You were the main reason that he faked his own death and left behind everything that he's built. I know because it is my business to know, that the men who were pursuing him were unaware of the identities of the people in Erik's life. However, it wouldn't have taken them much longer to find you, and Geoffrey as well as any of the other people involved with Shadow and Erik's other companies. But especially you. And I cannot even begin to describe to you the horror that they would have inflicted upon you until you begged for your own death. So don't worry, little songbird, Erik will be happy you've come."

Christine could only hope so, but she had her doubts. Serious doubts. Which Erik would greet her: the one who refused to let her into his loft and left her standing out in the cold, or the one who sent her ivory roses? She'd know soon enough.

**Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ Ӂ**

"Afif al Jameel bin Ahmed al-Batoushi?" Erik repeated into the house phone, surprised. "And his wife? Yes, all right, send them both up."

So this was who had arrived this afternoon in the helicopter - his own brother. Afif al Jameel was one of their code names for Micheil and a joke at that. Afif meant "chaste" in Arabic, while al Jameel translated as "the beautiful". But who in the world was "the wife" he had brought with him? Micheil had had a few relationships over the years, some of them close ones even, but due to his physical limitations, they had always fizzled out in the end. Or at least that is what Erik had always assumed. But then, who was he to judge? He certainly hadn't done any better in the relationship department, always placing the blame for keeping people away on his own physical problems.

He barely had to wait five minutes when the doors to the private elevator slid open, allowing Micheil and the woman with him entrance to his spacious marble tiled foyer.

"My brother enters as a normal guest. Will wonders never cease," Erik greeted with a sardonic grin. He realized that he was absurdly happy to see him. "What in the world brings you all the way here, and with a - guest?" Erik stole a quick look at the Arab woman with his brother, but quickly averted his gaze as was proper in Muslim countries.

Christine opened her mouth to address Erik, but she felt the slight movement of Micheil's hand against the small of her back and realized he wanted her to remain quiet. She was surprised, but went along with Micheil's game.

"I knew you'd be getting restless, and perhaps even," Micheil paused, a mischievous look in his eyes, "lonely? So I thought I'd come for a visit to see how you're faring, little brother. Allow me to introduce my traveling companion, Safiya. Sadly, Safiya is not my wife, but out of respect for her culture, we travelled as such." Turning to Christine, he added, "Safiya, this is my younger brother, Erik."

Christine wondered how long this charade was going to continue, but played along, only murmuring softly to Erik, "I am pleased to meet you."

Erik felt his chest clutch at the sound of the woman's voice - it reminded him so much of Christine's. But he supposed that was only because he heard her voice in his head constantly even when he wasn't playing her music.

He bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Let me show you to the guest rooms," he said then narrowing his eyes at Micheil, he added "And then we have some catching up to do."

Erik showed them to the guest suite, two large rooms with an adjoining bath, deciding that they could figure out their own sleeping arrangements. He wasn't happy that Micheil had just shown up without warning, and Erik hoped that he had a damn good reason for the intrusion, to say nothing of the breach in security. It was often hard to tell with Micheil, but at least he didn't seem to be bearing bad news.

A half of an hour later, Erik looked up at his brother's reappearance, and was stunned. There on Micheil's arm was Christine. Christine, whom he was convinced he'd never see again. A kaleidoscope of emotions flashed through him - joy at seeing her, shock that she had come to him, anger at being manipulated by his brother.

Christine hesitated, glad to have Micheil's support as she struggled with her own conflicting feelings. She was flooded with relief at finding him alive and apparently well, but at the same time, she struggled with the idea that after the closeness they had shared for the past year, he had put her through such mind numbing grief over his faked "death".

Before Erik could recover his wits enough to speak, Christine flew at him with a shriek of rage.

"How could you do this to me?" She screamed at him, tears of anger forming, her fists hammering his chest. "How could you put me through this? I want to kill you myself!"

He caught her flailing arms effortlessly and drew her to him, pinning her against his body.

"Christine, stop. Listen to me," he said as she continued to fight him.

Christine grew still, her breath coming in short angry spurts as she glared up at him. With a final wrench of her arms, she pulled free of his grasp and wrapped her arms around his neck, attacking his mouth with the same vengeance she had just attacked him.

Erik froze with shock, but as she kissed him passionately, aggressively, covering his face with kisses and pressing her body against him, he responded, finding her mouth and deepening the kiss.

Christine felt his resistance finally begin to crumble as he matched her passion and the heat rose between them.

"Get a room you two," Micheil laughed, instantly bringing them back to the present. "It looks like my work is done here."

"Where are you going?" Erik asked his brother who had already started for the door.

"To my own condo."

"What? You live here?"

Micheil laughed again at having successfully surprised his brother. "Yeah, on the floor right below you. I thought you love birds would kiss and make-up, and that I would be escorting a certain young lady between here and North America with some regularity." Micheil winked and disappeared via the front door, leaving Erik alone with Christine.

"Christine." Erik murmured to himself in disbelief. He buried his nose in her hair, tightening the embrace again. He felt her kiss the side of his neck, then his jaw before he turned his face down to hers and met her lips with his own. They kissed softly, tenderly this time, lost in the wonder of each other.

"I can't believe you're alive," she said softly, her eyes still wet with her tears.

"And I can't believe you're here," he returned, kissing her forehead before releasing her. "Come, sit down. I owe you an explanation."

He led her to the sofa and sat down with her, still not releasing her hands. He, who been in complete control of his life and the events in it since he was a young boy, had finally surrendered that control and was happier than he would have ever believed possible. Still, as much as he wanted to keep Christine here with him, it wouldn't be fair to her to ask her to stay. He refused to ask her to sacrifice her career for his own selfish motives.

Christine waited, not entirely patiently for Erik to break the silence, but when it seemed he was unable to, she spoke first.

"Tell me why you left," she began.

"I had to. Please believe me when I tell you that I would never have left you if it hadn't been absolutely necessary." He stopped and took a calming breath, finding that his heart was still pounding. He was more nervous now than he had been the night they had broken into Volchok's apartment. "The phone conversation you overheard - I wasn't entirely truthful with you about that. My past in the Soviet Union was catching up with me. I crossed the wrong people there and they were going to get their revenge. My life, and yours, were in danger if I had stayed and they had found me. I wasn't afraid for myself, but I wasn't about to risk your safety."

Christine reached over and gently stroked his cheek, needing to feel him, to confirm that she wasn't dreaming. "But why couldn't you confide in me? Didn't you trust me?"

"I don't trust anyone, Christine. But you were safer not knowing. And it had to appear to anyone watching that you were..." Erik hesitated, embarrassed to admit his assumption now that she was actually there with him. "...that you were actually grieving. Can you ever forgive me for using you that way?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "That's the hardest part, especially since you knew what I had been through with Raoul," Pain and guilt flashed across his face, and Christine was thankful that Micheil had explained so much to her on the way here.

"There are many things I regret in my life, but none more than hurting you, Christine."

"Would you have sent for me, Erik? Or have I made a fool of myself by pursuing you here?"

"You made a fool of yourself singing on my doorstep," he said as he kissed her again, surprising her with his humor. "But in coming here, never. I've thought of you every minute that I've been here. I wanted nothing more than to ask you to join me. But it's selfish of me and too unfair to you. I won't let you give up your career, and I'm no ..." He had started to say 'prize' but trailed off helplessly, gesturing at himself by way of explanation.

Was this the same angry and controlling man who had first refused to see her and then had driven her mercilessly? Christine saw how vulnerable and insecure he still was, but she knew that she was finally seeing behind the wall. She had no illusion that those walls had come down, only that she had somehow gained admittance, at least for the time being.

"I'm staying with you, Erik. I love you and I have for some time now. Can't I have both? You and my career? Your brother said something about escorting... OH!" Christine jumped, startled by Micheil's sudden reappearance, as if she had somehow conjured him.

Erik glared at his brother. "Dammit, Micheil. Ring the bell like a normal person. You might get shot one day doing that." Turning to Christine, he added, "You'd better get used it. My brother rarely enters or leaves a building in the conventional manner."

Micheil only laughed, completely unperturbed by Erik's threat. Christine realized how different the brothers were and wondered if it was due solely to the difference in their physical appearance and the treatment they had received because of it.

"Keeps me from getting rusty," he replied, still grinning. "Now, what were you saying, Christine?" He asked.

"Erik doesn't want me to give up my career by staying here. I remembered that you said something about escorting me back and forth. Will that work? I mean will Erik still be safe?"

He raised an eyebrow, incredulous at her doubt. "Of course, no problem. We'll switch our identities every few trips; we won't raise any red flags that way." Micheil paused and looked Christine up and down admiringly.

"Micheil - what in the hell are you doing?" Erik growled warningly.

Micheil just shook his head. "Relax little brother. I just remembered a new set of passports I've gotten in, and was thinking what a good match they would be for Christine. Swedish passports, a father and daughter, named Daae."

Micheil threw Erik the traditional Arab head covering for a male. "Here, put this on. I'm taking you two out on my boat to watch the sunset. I dare say, Erik, you haven't been out of this place since you got here. I had Teo prepare some dinner for us and I raided your wine cabinet and I have some excellent champagne on ice."

"Looks like we have an uninvited guest for dinner then," Erik said to Christine. "Is that all right with you? I promise I'll throw him overboard if he gets too annoying."

Micheil snorted, and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "I'd like to see you try."

"It sounds wonderful," she replied, smiling up at him.

As they rose to follow Micheil out, Erik couldn't resist taking Christine into his arms and kissing her again, more confidently now, grateful that she had come to him. As they reluctantly broke apart, he looked into her eyes and saw her love for him there. And for the first time in his life, Erik willingly suspended his disbelief.

**~ The End ~**

**A. N.: **And so our story ends. I am more grateful than words can say that so many of you read my story, and especially to those of you who took the time to to leave me reviews. I so very much appreciate your comments and insights. If you have never left one, please take a minute now and let me know what you thought. I grew up with four brothers, so I can definitely take criticism as well as praise! I've had so much fun doing this, and now I'm off to rattle Iamphantomgirl's cage to get to work on the Western fic, tentatively titled, The Wyoming Saga. Erik sends black-ribboned roses to each of you. Much love, Donna


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